Vargas and Beirut exchanged a knowing nod, their silent agreement to split up born from years of experience and trust in their own skills. The station was eerily silent, its deserted halls amplifying the hum of its cold, flickering lights. It was the perfect hunting ground, and both of them knew it. They activated their telecommunicators, securing their frequencies to ensure contact even in the depths of the base.

"I'll take the northern wing and look for signs of interference in the power systems," Beirut said, his voice calm and steady. "If our Awakened has been here for a while, he's likely tinkered with something to stay under the radar."

Vargas nodded. "I'll start with the research labs. If he's experimenting or observing something, he might have left evidence." He paused, then added, "And Sebastin? Keep your guard up. Enchanters are known for their tricks and traps."

Beirut's eyes narrowed with a wry smile. "I'll try not to fall for it," he replied, vanishing down a shadowed hallway.

Vargas watched him go, then turned toward the other side of the station, the research labs he had marked earlier. Moving with a quiet, calculated pace, he pressed forward, letting his senses extend into the dim, hollow spaces around him. He opened himself to his Aera, letting it flow freely to attune himself to any disturbances in the energy fields.

In the silence, the low hum of the equipment grew louder, becoming almost tangible as he walked. Each step echoed back to him, intensifying the stillness of the station. He passed empty quarters, observation bays, and rows of labs filled with dormant equipment. Everything seemed untouched, yet Vargas knew better than to trust appearances.

Suddenly, his communicator crackled to life. Beirut's voice came through, clipped and urgent.

"Raul, I found traces of an Aera spell—definitely our perp's work. Looks like they tampered with the security feeds. I'm restoring what I can, but it might take a while."

"Good work. Let me know if you uncover anything useful," Vargas replied. He switched off the communicator and pressed on, reaching a door marked with restricted access. Without hesitation, he unlocked it, feeling the cold air seep out as it slid open.

Inside was the laboratory's core. The walls were lined with containment units, most of which were empty, save for a few rows of dismantled and broken equipment. His eyes narrowed at the sight of an unusual scarring on the floor, like burn marks woven with faint traces of dark energy.

Then, the faintest sound caught his attention—a slow, hollow creak. He turned swiftly, his hand moving to his helix repeater, the weapon pulsing softly in response to his touch. The shadows shifted at the far end of the room, the outline of a figure barely visible against the dim light filtering in from the hallway.

Before he could react, the figure emerged from the shadows, silent and smooth as if it had been part of the darkness itself.

The alien was unmistakable: blue-skinned, with piercing purple eyes, and two antennae set high on its forehead. A Randir. Vargas steadied himself, feeling the tension as he gripped his helix repeater, now leveled squarely at the intruder's chest.

The Randir stared back, its expression unreadable but carrying a certain unnerving intensity. Vargas tried to assess it, attempting to gauge its strength, knowing that some Randir were strong Awakened, though he'd rarely crossed paths with one himself.

"Who are you working for?" Vargas demanded, keeping his voice low yet firm.

The Randir's lips curved slightly, but it gave no answer, simply watching him. Then, it tilted its head, almost mockingly, before vanishing back into the shadows, leaving Vargas with the chilling awareness that this Awakened adversary knew the station far better than he did.

Suddenly the telecommunicators buzzed with feedback, indicating contact.

Vargas clicked his device, hearing Beirut's strained breathing through the static.

"Raul… I slipped up," Beirut's voice was tight, pain laced in every word. "Some sort of trap. My arm took the brunt of it. I won't be able to back you up."

Vargas clenched his jaw. "Take it easy. Don't push yourself," he replied, his tone steely but laced with concern. "Stay put and rest. I'll handle the Randir on my own."

He could hear Beirut grumble, reluctantly agreeing, but Vargas knew he had no other choice. Injured or not, Beirut would have done the same for him if the tables were turned.

He switched off the communicator and took a breath, mentally recalibrating his approach.

Vargas allowed his magic vision to seep through his gaze, his eyes taking on an intense purple-black hue. The dim, flickering lights of the station faded, replaced by the ethereal glow of the aera trail weaving down the corridor. He observed it carefully, the way it pulsed, almost breathing like it was alive.

"A trap," he murmured to himself, a smirk tugging at his lips. They'd set a lure, expecting him to walk right into it.

With a surge of power, he dispelled his body of the [hide] state he automatically maintained. Dark waves of energy radiated from his body, mingling with the low hum of the station. No longer hidden, Vargas braced himself, feeling the familiar, electrifying thrill of his magic heightened to its full potential.

Every sense was on high alert, his movements deliberate yet flowing as he walked toward the trap. The Randir's intentions were obvious, but Vargas had dealt with worse setups before.

Vargas advanced down the dark corridor, his senses attuned to every shadow and creak of metal. The aera trail pulsed ahead, its eerie glow deepening as he moved closer. Flickers of light above cast sporadic illumination, throwing long shadows along the metallic walls. His footsteps echoed, reverberating into the silence of the empty station, a haunting reminder of the lifelessness that had swallowed the facility.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Suddenly, a cold draft swept through the hallway, carrying with it a whisper of something sharp and sinister. Vargas stilled, narrowing his eyes as the aera trail splintered, splitting into three different paths.

"A trick within a trick," he muttered, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. He surveyed each path, considering the nuances of each aera thread, and noticed the faintest difference in the density of the trail leading to the left. The Randir was trying to lead him astray, to wear him down by making him chase shadows.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Vargas stopped his aera from radiating out and coalescing it into a thin layer around his body. The dark energy layered around him, thrumming with power as it coated his skin and formed a barrier. The sensation was comforting, like wearing an old armor, yet laced with the exhilaration of battle.

He took the left path, every step now calculated and swift, his aura flaring brighter with each movement. As he rounded a corner, he heard a faint, almost imperceptible scraping sound—a telltale sign of another presence.

"Show yourself," Vargas commanded, his voice a low rumble that filled the corridor.

A shadow moved, resolving into the alien figure of the Randir, their skin a striking blue against the dim lighting, purple eyes glinting with cold determination. Antennae twitching, the Randir held his ground, gaze fixed on Vargas with chilling intensity.

"I didn't expect you to see through the traps so quickly," the Randir said, voice dripping with malice. "But I'll make sure you don't make it out of here alive."

Without another word, the Randir raised his hand, summoning a wave of wind that crackled with deadly force. Vargas reacted instantly, thrusting his own arm forward to meet the Randir's strike head-on. He transferred the aera surrounding into the single arm in an instant. Their magic clashed in a maelstrom of power, sending a shockwave rippling through the corridor, causing the lights overhead to flicker and dim.

The Randir's eyes gleamed as he pressed harder, his energy spiking with vicious intent. But Vargas didn't flinch, his stance unwavering as he absorbed the force.

Vargas squared up to the Randir, reading his aura and preparing for what he expected would be a brutal clash. "Giolio," Vargas called out, his voice steady, "it's over. Surrender now, and I'll make this painless."

Suddenly the alien stood still, no longer preparing to attack. It took a minute to take in Vargas' words, before its face contorted in anger.

The Randir's face twisted in shock, then indignation, as he waved his hands dramatically in the air. "Giolio? Did you just… it's Golio! Not 'Giolio,'The i is silent, its simple Ananta! Goddamnit!'" He let out an exasperated huff, as if Vargas had just insulted the universe itself.

Vargas raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback.

"You see, this is exactly what I'm talking about," the Randir rambled, completely dropping his sinister act as he ranted, "That idiot scientist probably said my name wrong too! 'Gio-lio,' indeed. No respect! My poor, sweet mama gave me this name on my hatch day, you know? Golio. Rolls right off the tongue if you're paying attention." He clicked his tongue, then fixed Vargas with an accusing look. "And that fool? Probably wouldn't have died if he hadn't gotten my name wrong. People think they can just butcher it."

Vargas fought to keep a straight face, clearing his throat. "Giolio, then," he corrected, emphasizing each syllable.

"Thank you," Giolio snapped. "Was that so hard? Goodness. People these days have no respect for language and names."

Realizing he'd veered completely off track, Giolio straightened up, regaining some of his composure. "Now, as I was saying, I'm going to end you." He flared his aura, dark energy crackling around him again. "But I'll do it with dignity, so you can die knowing the correct name of your superior."

Vargas smirked, slightly amused now. "Maybe you can start by letting me guess how to spell it. G-I-L-Y-O—"

"NO!"

Giolio's eyes lit up with a wild gleam as he conjured a spectral dagger that shimmered ominously in the dim light of the station. "Heart's Bane!" he declared theatrically, his voice dripping with dramatic flair. "A dagger forged from the pain of a thousand broken hearts!" He flung the dagger at Vargas with blinding speed.

Vargas barely had time to react. He instinctively dodged to the side, but the dagger managed to hit his leg, sending a jolt of searing pain through him. He stumbled but quickly regained his footing, glancing down to assess the wound.

There was no wound, in fact the dagger had only penetrated his pants, bouncing off his skin and stumbling to the floor as it dissipated.

"Nice try, Giolio," Vargas managed, gritting his teeth against the pain. "But you'll have to do better than that." He narrowed his eyes at the Randir, noticing how the alien was breathing heavily after the attack. It became clear to Vargas that while Giolio was quick and flashy, he was likely not cut out for prolonged close-quarters combat.

"Hey! You're supposed to be impressed!" Giolio shouted, crossing his arms defiantly. "That attack was poetry in motion! Not just any old magical poke!"

"Sure, poetry," Vargas replied, the pain in his leg a constant reminder of the threat before him. He quickly recalibrated, scanning Giolio's aura again. "But poetry doesn't win fights."

He's an enchanter, so close quarters combat is a weakness for him. His technique is probably all about speed, but lacks any real power. But the pain still feels like I got stabbed.

With that, Vargas let his aura flare, and he prepared to counterattack. He gathered his Aera, feeling the energy pulsate through him, weaving it into his quads. "You might want to think twice about your next move," he warned, a fierce determination igniting in his eyes.

Giolio scoffed, twirling another spectral dagger in his hand. "And you might want to stop making me angry! Anger fuels my technique, you know! I'll turn you into a fine mist if you keep that up!"

Vargas lunged forward, producing a small boom from his enhanced legs, dodging to the side to avoid another dagger as it shot past him. He focused on the shadows dashing toward Giolio with newfound vigor.

"Let's see what you can do when the stakes are higher!" he called out, preparing to engage in a more direct confrontation with the Randir. Giolio's eyes widened, and for the first time, Vargas sensed a flicker of uncertainty in the alien's demeanor.

"Wait! Let's talk about this! I'm not ready for—"

The alien screamed in surprise, but as Vargas grew closer it suddenly manifested a creepy grin.

"I gotcha, you bastard", he smiled, as he extended a finger at Vargas, making contact with Vargas' forehead.

"Dagger of intention"

Vargas felt the same searing pain all over his body. His body shuddered and lurched crashing into the alien.

"Argh! Get off me.", the alien screamed as he was crushed by Vargas' falling frame.

Giolio pushed him off, helping himself up and before addressing Vargas.

Giolio cackled, a twisted look of satisfaction on his face as he brushed off his cloak. "Didn't see that coming, did ya?" He rubbed his bruised shoulder, muttering, "You're heavier than you look."

Vargas gritted his teeth, forcing himself to his feet. The pain had subsided, but he noticed his body had been restored to the [Hide] state.

He glared at the Randir, who was now swaggering with a newfound arrogance.

Was this a stun technique? No it can't be that simple or he would have ran away by now.

Vargas flared his aura again, ready to attack once more.

"Argh!", the same sharp pain inundated his body once more, retracting his aura back into his body.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you. Go ahead, take a look with [sight]", Giolio laughed.

Vargas complied focusing aera in his eyes. The world shone with a purple luster, and he realized that at certain areas of his body, spectral daggers were suspended ready to strike at any given point.

He observed a dagger floating over his biceps. He focused aera into the muscle, noticing the dagger growing closer and closer the more aera he put in.

His biceps began to ache as the dagger seemingly sunk deeper into his skin. He redrew all the magic into his body, and the dagger immediately returned to its original position.

He dissipated his [sight] and inspected his bicep. There was no wound or pain.