The sound of black wingtips treading down this particular set of stairs was not an unfamiliar one. And yet, it also wasn’t one that Cyrus Wardell heard often. After all, it had been quite some time since he last had a need to visit this room. It was coming in rather handy, however, he had to admit. Such was the benefit of simple forethought. One had to act decisively to get anywhere in life, but preparing contingencies in advance almost always turned out to be beneficial.

Though his footsteps did not echo, they came one after the other in quick-but-unhurried taps, resounding crisply through the stairway. It served as a welcome tonesetter. After all, the unique sound was more from the material of this part of the facility than his own footwear.

Today, he was taking time out of his busy schedule to meet with someone he had decided to take a risk on. The help of Colette’s companion, Quillvoy, had been instrumental in apprehending this individual. He would have to express his appreciation to her somehow. Perhaps it would be prudent to ask Aiden what she desired the most at the moment, seeing as he knew her better than anyone.

Not immediately, of course. He would wait until a better opportunity presented itself. The youths were all still raw from the mission that had gone so far out of everyone’s control. They deserved some much-needed time to recover and recenter themselves after such a huge ordeal. When they got back on their feet, he was sure they would continue. The ones that were still with him, at least. The loss of Shade had been deeply unfortunate, and he would ensure the boy’s sole remaining parent was taken care of from here on out.

On the other hand, he had gained a new miracle power in his daughter, Casey. Part of him blamed himself for what had led to the falling out between her and Ines, but he had long since acknowledged that it was impossible to keep an iron grip on every possible variable. Some things just weren’t going to transpire the way you thought they would. Casey was livid, currently. Especially with him. But she would come around; he was well aware of how badly she wanted to become part of his organization, and her ability would grant her that opportunity despite her inexperience in many other aspects.

Cyrus was perfectly cognizant of how manipulative that thread of thought sounded. He was just equally conscious of how they fit into his worldview and what he deemed acceptable on his moral compass. Since the day he created this faction, he had known that he couldn’t keep his firstborn out of it forever. And now his youngest had turned into what the government would doubtless see as a high-value asset to add to their ranks. It was simply such an Apexian way of thinking. Putting the powered young ones in the spotlight, parading them as the hope of the future and shouldering them with unreasonable amounts of responsibility and expectations. He couldn’t claim that he wasn’t guilty of it himself to a lesser degree.

However, that did not mean he was ever going to compromise on his personal rules. Not a soul worked under him by force. Every single member of his group was there of their own free will. That was going to hold true in this upcoming conversation as well, albeit with the board positioned in such a way that he was in fact the best possible choice.

He reached the bottom of the stairwell and raised his hand in front of the digitized security lock. It flashed from red to green and the sliding metal door opened with a muted hiss. Stepping through, he approached the left-facing chair he had one of his people prepare in the middle of the room.

When he took a seat, he had a clear view of the person behind the reinforced bars on the other side. It was a cell big enough to move a few steps back and forth, but not much more. It had all the necessities to hold a prisoner long-term and nothing else.

Deciding to set the tone of the conversation himself, Cyrus said, “From a political standpoint, all fugitives associated with the criminal gang known as “the Venin” are currently top priority for arrest amongst the remaining heroic forces in the district. Of those fugitives, only one has been confirmed to be a villain with a registered power. And if that villain were to, say, run across the district in a desperate bid to escape the grasping arm of the DHD, his likelihood of success would be unfavorable.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “Do you understand your predicament, Grimoire?”

The villain standing in the cell, bereft of his costume, gave him a glare that looked almost grimly entertained, as if he had realized he was in so much trouble that he couldn’t help but find some amusement in the fact that things were nearly as bad as they could get.

Some seconds passed in silence, then Grimoire clicked his tongue. “You’re attempting to play this game with me? You presume to understand me? To gauge my potential like a mere chess piece on your board? You’ll find me a more unpredictable opponent than you’ve bargained for. Give me a day, and forget about the district. I will not even be in Apexia anymore.”

“Indeed,” Cyrus agreed easily. “You would find yourself in Somnus by then.” He had no doubt that this incident would warrant such a response. The Global Accords existed for situations like this; shipping off the Venin’s leadership was not going to be a problem for the authorities.

Grimoire scoffed. “Somnus? Please. I’d sooner embrace oblivion. At least death would allow me to exit this stage with some dignity intact, unlike that psychic abyss masquerading as a prison.”

Cyrus stroked his beard with a small smile. “In that case, this conversation does not have to take long. I will make my offer straight and to the point. Work for me, not under your current alias but a different one. And I will provide you with projects as interesting if not more so than the ones you were working on previously.”

That made the other man tilt his head. “You realize how high you’re setting the bar here, yes? And even assuming I did believe your outlandish claims about giving me a project more interesting than little Yves, what are you going to do if I refuse?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Hearing this, Cyrus spread his hands. “As I said, I will release you and leave you to your fate. If you believe you have the means to escape half of Central’s main team and countless others who came here, I will not stop you from trying.”

“I see…”

“Of course, I believe that would be a waste. From what I’ve gathered, you are not someone who readily concedes defeat—whether the odds favor you or not.”

“Psychological profiles?” Grimoire inferred. “How… adorable.”

“My people do good work,” Cyrus said. “If freedom is what you seek,” he continued, “the question is not whether you can escape now. The true question is your ability to maintain it against a system that has already marked you as its target. Let alone one with as much influence as this.”

Grimoire leaned back, a razor-sharp grin slicing across his face. “And what am I to believe is the alternative, Wardell? Your organization? A lumbering beast pretending to be a hunter: too slow, too predictable, and far too blind to see the traps it stumbles into.”

Chuckling softly, Cyrus narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Perhaps, but even a blind beast can crush a serpent underfoot, provided it knows where to step.”

The captive villain rubbed a hand under his receding hairline with a snort. “I suppose you’ve proven that much.”

As they hashed out the details of their agreement, Cyrus was pleased with the results. He was recovering some of the losses he’d suffered in the battle against Viperia, and he would be in a better position in the district when it was eventually rebuilt. It was just such a shame about the young Finneas Allister. The boy had drive.

Although…

His analysts had discovered something strange. At the exact same millisecond the explosion happened, there was a ripple in the network of gatekeys left by one of the most elusive men in history. And when he called upon contacting one of his informants in the DHD, he learned that the gatekey he had expected to be recovered from one of hideouts had not been found.

Curious.

If his hypothesis was correct, then they might all be in for a surprise soon.

Ah, well.

Best not to give the children false hope.

******

From the moment the explosion hit him, the world stopped making sense. If there even was a world, still. He couldn’t tell. Nothing his senses told him made sense. At some points, they stopped telling him altogether. The thought would’ve been horrifying if he wasn’t in so much pain. He couldn’t focus, and yet his power was such that even without focusing the information was fed into his mind just as clearly as if he were dedicating his full concentration to it.

He didn’t know how many times his power blacked out. Maybe never, maybe it was the space itself. Maybe his power stopped reading his surroundings because there was simply nothing to read. If there even was any space or time to begin with. Those concepts seemed like suggestions more than laws here. Wherever “here” happened to be. He had no clue. He was ignorant about everything except the blinding agony he experienced every second of every hour—or every day? Who was he, even?

Interminable. Unquantifiable. Impossible to orient. Infinite. Wherever he found himself, he couldn’t even muster the slightest twitch of resistance. No sense of motion or stability. He could’ve been hurtling through the milky way or standing completely still, he had no way to distinguish between the two. Did he even have a body anymore? His senses showed him nothing but a blur of different smeared colors. Was that what he was? An abstract chromic art piece?

No closer to the answer, he found himself moving from the question of whether he had a body, to whether he had a mind. To the latter, the answer was a clear yes. Yeah, he was thinking. Cogito ergo sum or whatever. It was something Jack would’ve taught him and Lyra if he didn’t already know.

Wait… Lyra… Jack…

He remembered everything.

Finn remembered himself.

His eyes would’ve shot open if he actually had control over his body. But because he didn’t, all he could do was sort of remain suspended in this slice of unreality. But he was dying wasn’t he? Then how could he not have a body? Was this… the afterlife? That didn’t make sense. He didn’t feel dead, though he had no idea what death was supposed to feel like. He’d always heard that while dying was in many cases excruciating, death itself was peace. Because if that was true, then the pain was making it pretty clear he was alive.

He tried to reach out with his power, found nothing to grasp at, and reached harder. Viperia had killed him, except he’d gotten away? How? He’d failed to reach the portal in time, and he’d been a dead man walking before that anyway. He couldn’t wonder anymore due to the pain. It wracked his entire being, scouring all errant thought and consuming him whole until he began to lose that small bastion of sanity he’d managed to hold onto.

For better or worse, it didn’t last long after that.

All at once, the connection with his body returned, and this time the pain went from existential to merely physical. His sides and back burned so badly he wanted to scream. Scratch that, he did scream, but the sound was drowned, and bubbles came from his mouth, drifting upwards through his damaged mask. Liquid entered his airways. Water.

The burns were rapidly cooling, and he thrashed, almost out of breath. His senses had returned and were informing him about the place he was in. Some massive body of water, like a lake. He swam to the surface. It was too late. Black spots encroached on his vision, and he tried to get his grappling hooks out, but they were stuck to the remains of his suit.

Near the surface, Finn expended the last of his strength, and began to slump. He wouldn't make it...

A hang caught his wrist, hauling him out of the water.

Finn coughed and took in greedy gulps of air, not even looking at the one who’d rescued him. His focus was absorbing enough oxygen to get his mind working again.

It took a few seconds to regain his composure. When he did, he cracked an eye open, power working in tandem with his vision to take in this individual. Holding him up was a man, early to mid twenties, black hair grown out in a way that suggested he hadn’t seen a barber in ages, and all over his body, he had thin, white scars, including his face and torso.

“Hello there,” said the stranger, his aura radiating mirth. “Welcome to hell.”

[VOLUME 2: END]