Maxwell sat alone upon the grand stage, bathed in the harsh glow of the overhead lights. The spotlight carved him out of the surrounding darkness, casting long, jagged shadows that stretched across the empty auditorium seats. Silence filled the room, an unsettling quiet that hung in the air like the calm before a storm. His wings were folded behind him, sleek and dark, their presence barely noticeable in the flickering light.
Without warning, the seats began to fill. One by one, rows of crude, humanoid figures appeared in the dim light, their bodies stiff and mechanical. Mannequins. Each one moved with an eerie, jerking motion as if held together by invisible strings, their porcelain faces twisted into grotesque smiles.
The soldiers' expressions were disturbingly childish, their faces painted with crude, uneven strokes, as if hastily drawn by a child. Their eyes were wide and vacant, mismatched and lopsided, while jagged smiles stretched unnaturally across their porcelain faces, giving them an eerie, mocking appearance. Dressed in sleek black uniforms that mimicked military attire, they wore stiff, buttoned jackets with polished brass buttons gleaming under the stage lights. On their heads sat pristine military hats, their sharp brims casting shadowy lines over the grotesque faces beneath. Despite their rigid, puppet-like movements, there was an unsettling sense of precision in their march, as though some unseen force puppeteered them toward the stage.
The mannequins, armed to the teeth with a bizarre assortment of guns and heavy artillery, marched toward the stage with mechanical precision. The sound of their clattering movements echoed throughout the vast space as they moved into formation, their blank eyes all fixed on Maxwell with an unnerving intensity. Without hesitation, they raised their weapons, fingers tightening on their triggers in unison.
Maxwell remained seated, watching them with an air of calm indifference. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, his wings unfurled behind him. The sleek white feathers shimmered in the spotlight’s glow, a cascade of sharp, pointed quills that bristled with hidden energy. In an instant, he scattered his feathers across the stage, sending them spiraling through the air like shrapnel.
The first wave of bullets came, a barrage of metal cutting through the air, aimed directly at him.
Each bullet was effortlessly deflected by the swirling feathers, ricocheting off in a shower of sparks. Those that slipped past his defenses were dodged with almost casual grace, Maxwell’s body weaving through the chaos with an ease that bordered on supernatural. His movements were fluid, each step calculated, as if he were dancing through the storm of gunfire.
“I’ve always been good at predicting my enemies’ movements,” Maxwell commented, his voice calm and unwavering amidst the chaos. He dodged another spray of bullets, his feathers acting as a protective shield. “But these things…” He glanced at the mannequins, their jerky, lifeless motions betraying their simplicity. “They’re even more predictable than I expected.”
A slow, mechanical laugh echoed through the empty room. The sound was tinny, distorted, like a broken toy struggling to imitate laughter.
“I couldn’t agree more,” said a small, scratchy voice.
Maxwell’s gaze shifted to the front row, where a small figure had appeared, perched awkwardly on the edge of a seat. A tattered teddy bear, its fur matted and patched, sat slumped over, its button eyes glinting in the dim light. The laugh came again, this time from within the bear itself. A voice box hidden inside it crackled to life, and the bear's head jerked up with a sudden, puppet-like motion.
The voice, disturbingly cheerful, rang out from the stuffed toy. “Predictable, aren’t they? But that’s the beauty of them! They don’t need to think, they just need to shoot!”
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed, watching the bear with mild curiosity, though his focus remained sharp, his wings still scattering feathers like a shield. “And who are you supposed to be?”
The teddy bear’s head tilted slightly, as if considering the question. Then, with a creaking, jerking motion, it waved a small paw in the air. “Me? Oh, I’m just the show’s director,” it replied with a sinister giggle. “And you, my dear Maxwell, are the star of this evening’s performance. So, let’s put on a good show, shall we?”
Maxwell smirked, his wings twitching behind him in anticipation. “Is that so?”
The auditorium filled with the rattling noise of the mannequins reloading their weapons, preparing for another volley. The teddy bear, its head lolling awkwardly to one side, continued to giggle as if this were all a grand joke.
Maxwell’s wings unfurled to their full span, feathers sharp and gleaming like blades in the spotlight. He crouched slightly, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to unleash the next strike.
“Let’s see if you can keep up,” he murmured.
Maxwell's wings flared wide as he took to the air, his feathers glowing with an ethereal, radiant light. With a flick of his wings, the feathers launched forward like arrows, slicing through the air with deadly precision. As they flew, each feather transformed into a sword of pure light, sharp and blazing, aimed directly at the soldiers’ crude, painted faces.
The first wave of soldiers barely had time to raise their weapons before the swords struck, each one embedding itself perfectly in the center of a mannequin's forehead. The distorted, childish smiles remained frozen as their porcelain heads cracked and shattered, collapsing to the ground with dull thuds.
Maxwell moved with effortless grace, his hypercognition allowing him to predict every move before it happened. The soldiers’ clumsy attempts to fire were met with nothing but air, their bullets missing wildly as Maxwell weaved through the storm of gunfire. His movements were swift, fluid, as if he were dancing between the bullets, a blur of light and shadow.
Another sweep of his wings sent a new barrage of feathers hurtling toward the advancing soldiers. This time, the light swords pierced their torsos, slicing clean through their black uniforms. The mannequins crumpled under the assault, their rigid bodies falling apart like broken marionettes, limbs snapping and collapsing into pieces.
Though each strike was devastating, the relentless wave of soldiers continued to press forward, their numbers overwhelming. Maxwell, even with his hypercognitive abilities predicting every movement, began to feel the strain. His breath grew heavier as the battle wore on, and the once effortless dodges became more calculated, the slightest shift in his expression betraying the fatigue creeping in.
Yet, even as exhaustion threatened to slow him, Maxwell's focus remained unshaken. With one last surge of energy, he unleashed a powerful flap of his wings, scattering a final cascade of glowing feathers. They spun through the air like a whirlwind of blades, cutting down the remaining soldiers in a brilliant explosion of light.
As the last of the mannequins fell, their shattered remains littering the stage, Maxwell hovered in the air, wings outstretched, breathing heavily. The auditorium fell silent once more, save for the soft crackle of fading energy. His eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness beyond the stage, knowing that this battle was only the beginning.
Maxwell hovered above the stage, his chest heaving as he surveyed the remains of the shattered mannequins scattered across the floor. For a brief moment, there was silence, but it was broken by the eerie, distorted voice of the teddy bear.
“Wow, for a kid, you’re very strong. It’s a shame you have to die—I’d love to play with you more,” the teddy bear chimed, its voice box crackling with twisted amusement. The button eyes glinted maliciously in the dim light, and a low, mechanical laugh echoed through the auditorium.
Maxwell’s gaze hardened as the fragments of the broken mannequins began to stir. With unnatural movements, the shattered pieces clattered together, twitching as they began to reform. Cracks spiderwebbed across their porcelain bodies, but they pulled themselves upright, their twisted limbs snapping back into place. However, something was wrong. Their once-jagged movements became smooth, and deliberate, as if they had learned from their prior failure.
The teddy bear's laughter grew louder, more unsettling. “Let’s try reforming them a bit.”
Before Maxwell could react, the mannequins’ bodies slammed together, fusing into grotesque abominations. Limbs melded into one another, their twisted forms growing larger and more monstrous. Guns, once separate, were now woven into their very bodies, embedded in arms, torsos, and faces. Seven towering figures stood before him, their faces even more distorted, the crude, childlike expressions now horrific mockeries of human emotion. Each one bore multiple arms, their jagged, stitched bodies crackling with dark energy.
Their movements were no longer erratic. They were precise.
Maxwell’s wings fluttered in agitation as he assessed the new threat. His hypercognition kicked in, analyzing every twitch of their limbs, every shift in their stance. The monstrous mannequins were stronger, faster, and more unpredictable than before. But Maxwell wasn’t about to back down.
“Let’s begin act two of this play,” the teddy bear cackled from the front row, leaning forward in its seat with glee.
Maxwell’s wings flared out with a snap, his feathers shimmering with renewed energy. He shot upward, narrowly dodging a barrage of bullets that erupted from the mannequins’ twisted forms. Their guns were now part of their bodies, firing in every direction with a terrifying efficiency. Maxwell swerved between the hail of bullets, moving like a phantom as he unleashed another volley of feathers, each one transforming into a blade of light.
The light swords tore through the air, but this time, the mannequins responded faster. One of the towering figures swung its massive arm, deflecting the attack with a spray of bullets. Another mannequin charged at him, its limbs elongating unnaturally as it lashed out, forcing Maxwell to twist midair to avoid being struck. He felt the wind of the attack brush past his wings, close—too close.
“Adaptive, huh?” Maxwell muttered under his breath, his sharp eyes tracking the monsters as they moved in unison, their attacks synchronized with deadly precision. He could feel the strain now, the weight of the battle beginning to press down on him. His feathers glowed brighter, but even he knew this fight was growing more dangerous by the second.
One of the twisted mannequins lunged forward, its multiple arms reaching out like grasping claws. Maxwell spun in midair, sending a cluster of light blades toward its chest. The blades embedded themselves in the mannequin’s body, but instead of falling, it simply absorbed the impact, its form contorting grotesquely as it reconfigured itself around the attack.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
A second mannequin leapt into the air, faster than he expected. Maxwell's hypercognition screamed at him—too late. He flapped his wings hard, just in time to avoid a crushing blow, but the force sent him careening backward, slamming into the stage floor with a thud. The impact knocked the breath out of him for a split second, but that was all the mannequins needed.
Two more advanced, their grotesque, gun-arm limbs raised and firing. Bullets whizzed past, and Maxwell barely managed to roll out of the way, his wings scattering defensive feathers to block the barrage. He gritted his teeth. This fight was spiraling out of control.
“I must admit, you’re impressive,” the teddy bear mused from its seat, watching the chaos unfold. “But no matter how clever you are, I’ve rigged this play in my favor.”
Maxwell’s eyes flashed with determination as he staggered to his feet. “We’ll see about that.”
With a mighty flap of his wings, Maxwell launched himself back into the air, his feathers igniting with intense light, brighter than before. His hypercognition fired on all cylinders, every calculation pushing his abilities to their limit. He was fast—faster than the mannequins, faster than their relentless gunfire. He zigzagged through the air, every movement precise as he closed the gap between him and the nearest abomination.
With a battle cry, he slammed both hands down, sending a surge of energy through his wings. A blinding pulse of light erupted from his feathers, and the swords of light grew even larger, crashing down on the mannequin like a divine hammer. The light tore through its body, splitting it apart in a brilliant explosion of feathers and energy.
One down.
But the others were closing in fast, and Maxwell could feel his strength waning. He steadied himself midair, wings trembling under the strain. He couldn’t let up—not yet. Not until every last one of these monstrosities was destroyed.
Maxwell soared above the stage, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths as the monstrous mannequins regrouped below him. Each of their warped forms twisted and crackled with dark energy, ready to lunge at him again. The weight of the battle was pressing down on him, but his mind raced faster than ever—his hypercognition scanning the environment for anything he could use.
His gaze swept to the backstage area, where old play props and backdrops were haphazardly strewn about. Sets from long-forgotten productions were stored behind the curtains, wooden structures, faux chandeliers, towering castle walls, and broken furniture, all left to gather dust. Maxwell’s mind clicked into overdrive, a plan forming in seconds.
The mannequins advanced, their elongated limbs snapping as they reached up, desperate to bring him down. Maxwell dove toward the stage, his wings pulling him into a tight spiral as he weaved through the onslaught of gunfire. One of the grotesque creatures swung a massive, jagged limb at him, but he twisted midair, narrowly avoiding the blow as he shot toward the backstage area.
“Let’s see how you handle this,” Maxwell muttered under his breath as he flapped his wings, sending another volley of glowing feathers to hold the mannequins at bay.
The massive castle backdrop, an old set piece from a long-discarded play, loomed over the stage, its wooden walls standing tall and sturdy. Maxwell shot past it, his fingers brushing against the rope pulley system behind the scenes. With a swift yank, he released the tension, and the massive backdrop groaned as it swayed precariously above the mannequins.
He flapped his wings hard, propelling himself to safety as the backdrop collapsed with a thunderous crash, the wooden structure smashing into the mannequins below. Dust and debris exploded into the air, and for a moment, the eerie glow of the mannequins was obscured by the wreckage.
Maxwell hovered just above the chaos, catching his breath as the dust settled. His hypercognition told him it wasn’t over yet—and sure enough, the twisted mannequins began to stir beneath the rubble, their bodies contorting and reforming as they struggled to free themselves from the collapsed structure.
“Persistent,” Maxwell muttered, his mind already scanning for his next move. He noticed several large prop chandeliers hanging above the stage, each one rigged to a pulley system for dramatic scenes. Maxwell's wings flared as he darted upward, soaring toward the hanging fixtures.
With a sharp tug on the ropes, he released the chandeliers, sending them plummeting toward the mannequins. The first chandelier smashed into the lead abomination, crushing it beneath the weight of iron and crystal. The creature let out a distorted screech as its body was obliterated, limbs twitching and flailing before falling still.
But the others adapted, twisting their bodies unnaturally to avoid the falling debris. Maxwell cursed under his breath as the remaining mannequins broke free of the wreckage, their speed, and coordination now unsettlingly precise.
One of the towering abominations lunged at him from the side, its gun-limbs firing wildly as it rushed forward. Maxwell twisted through the air, but the creature was faster this time. Its clawed hand swiped at him, catching the edge of his wing and sending him spiraling backward. Maxwell grunted as he crashed into an old set piece, a wooden throne, and tumbled across the stage.
The mannequins advanced, sensing his vulnerability. Maxwell's wings twitched, feathers scattering defensively as he struggled to his feet. His eyes darted to the throne he had collided with, and an idea flickered in his mind.
With a surge of energy, Maxwell grabbed the throne and flung it toward the nearest mannequin. The heavy prop smashed into the creature's chest, sending it staggering back. Maxwell leaped into the air, using the distraction to regain altitude. He flapped his wings hard, and another barrage of feathers flew toward the advancing horde, this time aiming not just for their heads, but for their limbs, disabling them bit by bit.
“Your moves are growing sloppy, boy,” the teddy bear taunted from its seat, its voice still crackling with amusement. “Are you tired? Can’t keep up?”
Maxwell's mind raced. He needed something bigger, something that could overwhelm the mannequins before they adapted again. His eyes flicked toward the large wooden archways used as part of the stage set—a perfect trap.
Maxwell shot toward the rigging, his wings a blur as he untangled the ropes holding the archways in place. With a swift motion, he released the supports, and the massive arch came crashing down onto the stage. It slammed into the center of the mannequins, splintering as it struck, and this time, the force was enough to stop them in their tracks.
Seizing the moment, Maxwell gathered his strength for one final move. His feathers glowed with an intense, radiant light as he unleashed everything he had left. The swords of light flew from his wings in a spiraling storm, cutting through the twisted bodies of the mannequins with ruthless precision. One by one, the grotesque creatures fell, their limbs severed, their faces shattered.
Finally, as the last mannequin collapsed to the floor in a heap of broken porcelain and twisted metal, Maxwell landed softly on the stage. His wings drooped slightly, exhaustion was evident in his movements.
The teddy bear clapped its tiny paws from the front row, the sound eerily hollow in the otherwise quiet auditorium. “Bravo, bravo. What a marvelous performance,” it mocked, its small black eyes glinting with malicious amusement. The tattered little thing sat there, smug and seemingly unfazed, as though the destruction Maxwell had wrought upon the stage was nothing more than a passing spectacle.
“Let me check the script,” the teddy bear mused, its stitched mouth curving into a smile that sent a chill down Maxwell's spine. “Ah yes, act three: Maxwell's death. My favorite part.”
A soft, maniacal giggle escaped from the bear's voice box. But Maxwell had no patience for this twisted show. With a flick of his hand, a single glowing feather shot from his wings, slicing through the air and embedding itself squarely in the teddy bear’s forehead. The bear's laughter cut off with an abrupt squeal as the light from its eyes dimmed. It slumped lifelessly in the front row, a grotesque rag doll once more.
“That thing was creepy,” Maxwell muttered, his wings lowering slightly as he surveyed the carnage. Dust still swirled from the ruined mannequins, the twisted abominations lay shattered on the ground. It seemed like it was over.
Until it wasn’t.
From the shadows, the soft sound of footsteps echoed across the stage. Maxwell’s eyes snapped toward the sound. Emerging from the darkness was another figure—taller, smoother, and eerily familiar. It moved with a grace the other dolls lacked, its movements precise, calculated. As it stepped into the light, Maxwell’s eyes widened.
The doll was a mirror image of himself.
From the orange and jet-black streaks in its hair to the striking orange eyes that seemed to glimmer with life, it was a near-perfect replica. Every detail was meticulously crafted, except for a few glaring omissions. The replica lacked the keyhole in Maxwell’s head, the one that marked his strange origin, and it had no sign of the six angelic wings that gave him his power. But it was unsettlingly close.
“How mean,” came a voice, not from the doll’s mouth but from the surrounding air. It was the same voice that had animated the teddy bear. “You ruined my favorite teddy bear. Do you know how long it took me to make it?”
The doll Maxwell’s mouth remained still, but its head tilted, observing the destruction with a calm, detached interest. “Who could have done such a terrible thing to my precious toys?”
Maxwell's wings flared, tension running through his muscles. “Who are you?”
The voice chuckled darkly. “Ah, yes. Introductions. My codename is Toymaker. I create, control, and love my little dolls. You’ve met a few of them already.” The voice now came from all directions, reverberating through the auditorium like a disembodied puppeteer controlling the scene. “But me? I prefer to stay hidden. Let my toys do the work. I don’t believe your friends at A.E.G.I.S. even know I exist… yet.”
The replica doll stepped closer, picking up the severed head of one of the ruined mannequins. It gazed at the lifeless face, its own expression blank and impassive. “You’re truly cruel, you know. You damaged my precious toys so… roughly.” The voice now came directly from the replica Maxwell, though its mouth still didn’t move. “I spent so long crafting each of them by hand. Sewing them special clothes, giving them character.”
Maxwell's brow furrowed. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have sent them to kill me,” he snapped, his feathers bristling. His wings unfurled fully, ready for whatever twisted trick Toymaker had planned next.
The air crackled with energy. In response to Toymaker's silent command, the shattered remnants of the destroyed mannequins began to stir. Tiny fragments, no larger than shards of glass, floated upward as though gravity had reversed itself. Bits of wood, porcelain, and metal twisted and spiraled in the air, condensing into a single form. The doll that mirrored Maxwell stood in the center of it all, its expression still eerily calm as the broken pieces of its fallen comrades grafted themselves to its back.
The transformation was grotesque. The fragments merged with the replica doll’s body, becoming long, spiny wings of jagged metal and broken limbs. The limbs contorted and twisted grotesquely, forming macabre wings, and the guns once held by the ruined mannequins were now fused with the limbs, creating something far more deadly than before. Within the replica Maxwell’s hands, two pistols formed from the wreckage, their barrels crackling with dark energy, far stronger than the weapons the previous dolls had used.
Maxwell watched as the monstrosity finished its transformation. The six twisted wings extended, twitching and clicking as the doll raised its pistols, aiming directly at him.
“Let’s see how well you fight against yourself, Maxwell,” Toymaker's voice purred. “Shall we begin? Act three is always the most exciting.”
Maxwell’s pulse quickened, his hypercognition kicking into overdrive. Every movement of the replica doll, every shift of its wings, every crackle of energy from its pistols—it all fed into his mind, creating a perfect map of his enemy. But there was something deeper, something strange about this opponent. It wasn’t just a puppet—it felt alive, as if it shared Toymaker’s will directly.
Maxwell gritted his teeth, the air around him humming with the light of his wings. “If this is how you want to play it, Toymaker,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll show you what the real Maxwell can do.”
“Let’s play,” Toymaker's voice echoed with chilling glee. “I’ll toy with you until you break.”
As the words left the doll's mouth, a twisted halo formed above its head—a crown of spinning bullets, gleaming with malice. Each one hovered in place, ready to rain down death upon Maxwell, their metallic surfaces catching the dim light like a predator's eyes in the dark.