Absent of proper lighting, the space is dark and shadowy, and absent of crowds, the space is silent and mute.

A few white spots of directional light do however pierce through into the room among the darkness, catching on the white fur carpet that covers most of the room. Individual furs gleam in the scarce yet bright light, like blades of grass frosted over.

Above the fur carpets are three white sofas with thick cushions all facing each other in an incomplete square, and in the center of the three is a square table. The only uncovered side is the one between the table and the white wall, although appearing dark gray due to the lack of light reaching it.

Along the wall are white yet darkened cabinets with miscellaneous cups and plates left on the top, and on the wall itself are a few projecting paintings of landscapes featuring sierras towering a snowy forest. The paintings are nearly opaque yet somehow dim, as though they were truly solid, for they could be mistaken as such easily.

On the left adjacent side of the curved wall away from the opening of the sofa square is a wall with a wide window screen, nearly consuming the entire white wall and only leaving slim borders along the edges like framing.

Through the screen the dark night is shown, completely black with no trace of the sun, and rather than it being a beautiful sight of shimmering stars and nebulous streaks, instead it was nearly utter darkness, the cosmic beauties clouded. The only visible cosmic entity through the clouds was the sole source of light, the full moon, which illuminates the surrounding expansive clouds of the dark night. Only that light source is what gleams the white light down into the house’s room, for all of its own lights had ceased.

In front of the wide aperture is casted a silhouette that looms in the center of the window, only its figure visible from inside the room. Its hands remain on its hips as if there were pockets, for its posture is relaxed and casual. It stares up at the bleak sky, only able to gaze at the moon as the singular entity inhabiting the black canvas, with four strands hanging off the back of its head like hairs yet completely distinctive and scarce.

Even then, it stands and gazes peacefully as it has been for a prolonged time, spending the deep night watching above on the surface rather than being stowed low underground where such light would fail to touch. Even without much of a sight to gawk at, it remains in place, choosing to stay above ground and rest instead of continuing the fruitless search below.

At the front is where light is received, for in the front stands the man in the leather jacket, his hands pocketed. The front of his jacket is well lit from the moonlight, exposing the grayed leather telling of its age and wear, similar to his pale and wrinkly face staring up. The jacket was also noticeably soft, making it more comfortable but also weaker, becoming more like suede albeit still retaining the scaly pattern of leather. Its linings seem to be similarly colored to the rest of the coating when in reality they were meant to be entirely separate colors, the lines less distinctive and the image less sharp.

Perhaps it was also helped by the white moonlight directly shining on it which brightened the entire body into a similar, jaded color, but only so much could external forces change an entity when all it truly does is highlight its key characteristics.

Light shines through his four white locks, just as it reflects off the blank oasis of his blue irises, which casts the image of the night sky on its own canvas. His mouth is closed and he wears a pacific face, using this time of observation to rest after a long yet inevitably disappointing day.

Past the man on his left is the wide arched exit leading into the dark wide corridor with crystallized white floors, for the man seems to be on the base floor where the dining room too is. There still doesn’t appear to be any rooms lit up by themselves however, as he had turned them all off in order to get a better view of the night sky, knowing all the other residents were in their rooms asleep regardless.

Amidst the tranquility, a soft, tired sigh vents from between the man’s slightly parted lips, and he blinks before slowly lowering his head from above to straighten his neck.

Trailing down away from the white moon against the black sky, the man’s vision takes focus not on above but in front, facing the front lawn and driveway of the house where the lightning rod shines over the fountain in the center of the colorful yet darkened garden up close.

Past the round peach driveway, which is softly lit, forming a ring around the garden, it straightens into a more narrow street which crawls up to the main road which is also lit gray, the road being what travels left to right endlessly, connecting the various distant driveways of the other faraway mansions with dimly lit bodies among the vast grasslands and dense trees.

Just like the flowers, the trees also weren’t vibrant but rather dark, not exactly black but not bright green either. They wave back and forth from the cold wind outside, being pushed back and forth while trying to maintain their ground as they towered over the miniscule blades of grass below, which took more harshly to the breeze as they were pushed down from the same current as if being stepped on.

Past the mansions far off, significantly remote are the black silhouettes of the sierras on the background of the scene, sharp arches below the sky with no visible detail for it seems they receive no light, or at least were too far to observe well.

On the otherwise empty gray road of the nightly street at a time where any locals would likely be asleep, or at the very least resting in their comfortable abodes so late, there stood a tall and slim figure in a straight posture with gleaming red eyes the same shade as streaks that course through its dark body, glaring straight into the man’s gaze as the wind waves its dark cape with arches along the bottom similar to a demon’s wings.

At once the man’s eyes shoot wide from the sudden sight, and he begins blinking rapidly before then rubbing his eyes with both hands hastily, trying to recalibrate his senses in the concern that his tiredness was getting the better of him.

He rubs his eyes for several seconds thoroughly, his teeth clenched and goosebumps all along his body as though he had seen a ghost, one frightening enough to cast shivers down even his spine.

After doing enough of a job, the man lowers his arms to his side, and opens his eyes once again, facing the same way where he had seen the man.

This time however, the gray road is completely empty with no pods nor people, for the crimson man was no longer present. Gone like a mirage, it seemed truly that it was an odd hallucination luckily short lived.

Now the sight was as it should be, an empty gray road connecting sparse driveways leading to distant mansions of likely asleep residents like the ones upstairs. The only entities standing are now the trees waving in the wind, nearly covering the sight of the far mansions with how flourishing the natural vegetation is.

A normal sight like it would be on any other night, without any abnormalities that would cause concern. It was simply a false image baked into the man’s head rather than the road, that’s what it had to be judging by the odd displacement of the entity’s shape.

Oddly enough it had come and gone like a ghost sighting, but there were no such things as ghosts, and that thought was calming.

Facing the window with light pants as his body returns to a relaxed state after the horrifying sight, the man reminds himself of the words he was told prior, to not worry so incessantly about potential enemies lurking when in reality there were none that could pose a threat. He was safe, as was the other three upstairs, he just had to keep that fact in mind.

His panting slows and quiets, denoting that his heart was calibrating back to tranquility, returning to a state where he could once again appreciate the serenity of the sight undisturbed.

He gulps and swallows, concluding his panting, and finally silencing once again. The room falls back into pure quietness, returning the mood back to peace and allowing him to simply enjoy the night sky without interruption.

Without worry, the man raises his head back up, as from the back of his body, the silhouette returns to the same pose as it was before. He returns his gaze up to the full moon in the otherwise empty sky, his heart calm as was his mind.

With a peaceful expression, Meditat watches the night sky inside the living room of the house, standing by the window screen right in front of the crimson man. They both stand completely still for a few long moments in the dark room, alone. Unassuming, reactionless, the two stand in a line, one staring at the moon and the other staring at the first man’s neck.

In the silent moment, the man in the aged jacket gasps with agape eyes and shriveled pupils, at last sensing danger and immediately taking action as he pivots his body completely around with clenched fists.

All four white locks glide past the man’s horrified face as he turns around away from the window screen, and in front of him he faces the crimson man, glaring straight at him silently yet terrifyingly.

On instinct, the senile man lunges forward and pulls his right arm back in preparation for a punch, unable to think clearly with only his primal instincts taking full command.

Right upon lunging, his body is suddenly jerked back in place with the sound of metal rattling by his foot. His body freezes in place, unable to move forward, unable to reach the man standing only a few feet from him.

His eyes still wide, he tries to push his right foot forwards, jerking it up yet failing to move it at all, only managing to trigger the sound of metal rattling again. He attempts three jerks, none of them successful, giving him only one option after noticing his state of immobility as well as an odd weight below.

He checks with a glance down on his right foot still with his terrorized expression, his heart beginning to race right after having been soothed.

On the senile man’s right ankle reveals a dark metal shackle, which is connected to the floor by dark chains embedded into the fur rug. The shackle is tight, perfectly fit for his ankle, thus making it impossible to move as long as the chain was holding him in place.

Caught in a trap instantly, the senile man desperately seeks escape as he pulls his right arm back, but this time he throws it down towards his ankle to which a long translucent blue blade appears by his wrist, projecting as part of his suit exactly like what he had used during his missions. He plunges the blade into the chains, only for it to simply get stopped at the chains, unable to pierce it at all.

Persistent, the aged man jerks his arm back before repeatedly stabbing the chain multiple times with the blade, his face getting only more tense as his projection blade failed to make even a scratch to the chain even though in truth it was his sharpest tool, his one weapon with the highest energy concentration.

If this couldn’t cut it, nothing on his suit would.

Without end the aged man continues to stab the chains desperately while the man before him speaks in his deep, demonic voice, explaining tauntingly: “Those chains are made of a custom alloy that repels energy, you’ll need something solid to rip it off.”

Given the revelation that freeing himself would be of no service, the aged man then raises his head up to the one before him, his expression still terrorized but also with a new tint of reserved rage, curled eyebrows and tightly clenched teeth.

He then aims his right arm right at the crimson man, but rather than closing his hand into a punch, he extends his pointer and middle finger forward along with his thumb while curling his other two fingers, making the firearm gesture and aiming his fingers right between the man’s eyes.

Without hesitation, the aged man fires a burst of three black bolts straight into the red man’s mask, causing a spark to come off the black mask.

Yet at the same time, the crimson man doesn’t stagger nor fall, he doesn’t flash black nor show fatigue. He simply just stands his ground, staring at the decrepit man.

Retaliatory, the crimson man, without raising a hand, commands two bursts of red flames out of his chest, which catches onto each of the aged man’s arms before firing each firing a sprout into the ground. The flames then transmute, revealing a pair of shackles around the decrepit man’s wrists connected to chains that connect to the ground similar to the first shackle.

The restriction suddenly causes the aged man’s hands to be lowered down as he stares with petrified eyes, watching the strike fail to depower the intruder even with a perfect shot.

Finally, the crimson man raises his hand, waving it casually while he mocks in his demonic voice with a sarcastically impressed tone, “Is that what I think it is, but in an energy form? Impressive, must make it effortless to subdue casual cases. But that trick has been done before, and even if it wasn’t in an energy base, the fact remains that I’m impervious to that. So, stop trying to be a hero, old man, and call Meditat here.”

Unable to aim his hands, the aged man just glares angrily at the crimson man, and his chest flashes blue.

A rapid barrage of blue bolts fire out of the center of his chest regardless of his inability to aim his hands, subverting the crimson man to get a clean shot for the body.

Another burst of flame emerges from the red man’s body out in front before materializing a solid metal wall, which catches the blue stream, allowing the crimson man to stand unharmed behind it for the multiple long seconds of the firing. He just stares at the hall, hearing the constant laser fire on the other side of the wall.

On the other side, the senior man continues to fire rapid blue shots at the wall, understanding that he couldn’t depower the intruder but at least he could seek to neutralize him through enough battering. His expression is less of fear and more of anger, hellbent on cutting through the wall, which simply repels the shots similar to the shackle chains.

Still, he doesn’t stop firing, stubbornly persistent to keep trying, at least to hold his ground for as long as he can.

Behind the aged man, a streak of red flashes to which the crimson man appears right behind him in the air. The man then throws his leg into the senior man’s back as the chains around his neck shuffle backwards, and upon impact the decrepit man flies forward, carrying chunks of the fur carpet and crystal white floor below.

A yelp escapes the man as he is flung ahead–past where the metal wall once was before no longer being present–before crashing into the sofa with such force that it knocks the sofa, allowing the body to fly straight into the ground with a thud followed by a pained groan.

The aged man lays on the ground in front of a wide entryway into another dark room as the shackles on his arms and leg flash red before combusting into flames, which then dissipate soon after, erasing the constrictions on his body and temporarily freeing him. He then raises his head, befuddled by the action, facing the crimson man who stands on the ground across from him.

Glaring back at the aged man, the crimson man has clenched fists as his cape drifts back down after the current of his dash.

With a slightly irritated tone, the crimson man declares, “If you want to be that way, fine, I’ll beat you until you’re permanently crippled, and then you’ll tell me. Then, I’ll strangle him with your intestines, it’ll be giving you some purpose.”

He then bends his knees forward, and the mineral soles on the bottom of his boots flare up red, indicating that they were being endowed with energy in preparation for a strike.

At once, the crimson man leaps forward in a red streak, and in that single leap the fur rug below him completely bursts into ash, revealing a large crater of shattered white crystals that was making up the floor under where he stood.

A radiating blue cable bolts in a flash.

Right before the red streak could reach the senior man, a thin blue wire extending far past from the man is reinforced by a glistening thick ray, and the very next instant the crimson man reappears where he had targeted, his fist embedded into a small crater made in the ground, revealing that the chains around his arm and fist were also flaring red as were the chains around his shoulders which wave in the air from the abrupt speeds, clanging. However, the aged man no longer is where he once stood, rendering the strike an utter omission.

Deep, gurgling growls extend off the black mask, and the man raises his head up to see the senile man standing in a different lounge past the wide arched entryway, also with a few sofas as well as wider tables and plants along the walls.

Standing in the next room, the senile man raises both of his fists up, his right one close to his face and his left further out like a boxing stance, prepared for a fight as he bends his knees down in preparation for another bounce. His fists then illuminate blue, his suit powering them for stronger punches, needing all the strength he could muster from it.

Fueled by irritation at the old man’s evasion, the man remains in his stance as two translucent red chains project off of each of his silver shoulders similar to the blue cables although with the added aesthetic and onto the frames of the doorway leading to the room where his target stood with a stern face.

Crescendos of spirits represented by the loudening growls of the crimson man who then propels himself forwards in a red streak, straight through the doorway and into the next room, only to have to pursue the manifesting blue ray that bolts further away from him, maintaining distance.

Now the chase is on, and through the first floor of the manor the two streaks soared, weaving past sofas and tables as the blue trace remains ahead, although just barely as the red trails only a few feet behind. Flashes of red and blue dart out of the two main dashes in random directions ahead, cables summoning with such speeds that they can hardly be focused on and instead appear like sparks at random emerging out of the blazing comets.

At first they pass rooms in seconds, flying linearly down the row of various rooms, most of which have the similar design of a lounge with sofas accompanying one another, and some added with cabinets and tables.

Both of the rays curve from side to side, slithering like snakes as the blue stroke makes sure to evade any strike, avoiding being directly followed as both streaks ascend and descend, using the relatively large yet still inherently claustrophobic spaces of the rooms to the best of their ability to maximize mobility.

Tables and cabinets shatter and sofas burst into ash from collateral of the high speed chase, the sparking red streak chaotically damaging the house’s interior in its enraged pursuit.

With such immense speed, the entire house only appears as a blur, and yet they have immaculate precision especially the front ray which manages to avoid all of the furniture perfectly, although its efforts appear in vain as the latter ray only burns through it not even half a second later.

At the head of the front ray, the aged man’s body is leaned forwards, cables firing out of his body in rapid succession, pairs of cables firing from his hips to pull him towards a sofa before two more emerge from his back, raising him higher up towards the ceiling where then two more come from the blades of his shoulder, carrying him into the next room.

Thick trails of blue energy exhaust behind his body, bright light illuminating the otherwise dark house, for every room they race into is completely unlit.

Right after reaching the next room, his body slightly tilts to the right just as a huge spot in the wall beside the arched doorway bursts open, and through the gap emerges the crimson man, breaking through with his right hand reaching forward, firing a fury of red flames.

Simultaneously three small dark crimson kunais propel from the red fire when a blue cable projects off of the aged man’s rib normal to his body.

In the next instant the senile man’s body is flung in a curve straight through another doorway, albeit not straightforward, but rather to the left, entering the other rows of the house and further exploiting the scale of his home for more space.

Narrowly he dodges all three kunais, which plunge into the wall further ahead, followed by the crimson man but not until his red energy chains chase after his proper target, also curving his trail into the room to the left.

Not only was it decided that a change in direction was needed once, but the blue streak begins start weaving through not only one lane of rooms but rather starts to slither through multiple rooms in singular curves, further harnessing swindles of his own for there were many rows on just the ground floor of the manor alone, an entire array of rooms with walls that functioned as obstructions and shields.

In a brief swing of the pendulum, the blue trace accelerates further from the red dash, making tight maneuvers initially unfollowed by its chaser, as the utilization of greater space gave it an advantage in the momentarily bleak situation.

Whereas the blue streak cuts through various rooms in zigzags, the red band makes delayed turns that consistently fail it from properly tailing its target, instead being several rows off even though it attemptively weaves to try catching the comet’s head.

Mastery of movement coupled with rich knowledge of the house’s layout helps the blue streak remain ahead for a moment, however further into the chase the distance between it and the red pursuer begins to close, as the red streak’s weaves are no longer as exaggerated and offset but rather begin to more intimately emulates the one ahead.

In fact, eventually the red line centers onto the same row of rooms as the blue, and only a few moments later, it even catches up to being in the same room, steadily accelerating as it catches up perpetually with the target.

Soon, the two streaks red and blue move synchronously, for every turn made by the blue is imitated by the red, for it seems no longer can the chaser be shaken off. Instead, now like a predator it has evolved above its prey, and just the same it takes its new advantage and uses it to close in the gap, approaching the kill.

Into the next room, the head of the blue ray continues forth deeper into the left side of the house, although he glimpses back to see the red trail hot behind him, chasing only a few feet away from him, able to see the head of the red streak with blazing eyes stalking him.

He also notices his pursuer’s hand still raised with more flames emitting off, and on instinct the man throws his arms and barrel rolls just in the nick of time to avoid a hugely oversized spinning saw blade with a diameter over half of his height, reflecting the blue light before severing the plants ahead but missing its intended target which in its barrel roll curves to the left, making another turn to slip out of range.

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He passes through several rooms and subsequently glances behind himself to notice that past multiple of the arches on his right side he can see the red streak in the distance along a parallel room, having been momentarily diverted but clearly gaining momentum again.

It only takes a few seconds before the red ray accelerates and curves back, once again breaching straight through another white wall, crushing the seemingly strong reflective surface and bringing in a red light to combat the blue illuminating the dark room.

Now again in a direct race, the aged man faces forward while the crimson man accelerates terrifyingly, catching up to him in seconds from being several rooms behind to only a few feet. He momentarily stares straight into the red eyes of the man whose hand is thrown forward as red chains spark off his body into the walls and furniture to pull him forwards.

Realizing he was being reached, the man faces forward, and clenches his teeth before tightening his fists even more.

Multiple cables fire off the escapee’s nape, suddenly rotating his body so his back faces the floor to which more cables extend from his back and pull him near the ground accompanied by more tilted from his shoulder, causing his path to curve again.

He drops his left arm, planting his forearm on the white floor itself as he slides on the ground straight through the living room, blue sparks coming off the contact between his arm and the floor as he skids right under a long transparent table next to two peach colored sofas facing one another.

He raises his head up onto to find that right above him flies the crimson man with his violently waving cape pushed by the red streams of propulsion, whose head is tilted down to glare straight through the transparent table, eyeing him menacingly with his fist plunging straight down into the surface.

Glass-like fragments shatter off of the table right as the man beneath it slides out from under, just barely passing the shards

Again the hoary man avoided a strike, and his body is propelled upright off the ground, returning airborne as two cables fire, one from each of his hips, pulling him towards the next rooms in a resilient effort against the red streak right behind him.

Tailing right behind, the crimson man throws his arm forwards, the chains around his hand blazing red as he lets out a menacing roar, close enough to land the blow.

In acceptance of the inadequate distance left, the decrepit man’s body spins around, and while the cables firing out of his hips remain facing ahead to keep him mobile, his body instead is backwards, facing straight at the pursuer dead in the eyes, whose blazing fist flies for his gleaming red face.

He raises both of his arms up, and an abrupt blue flash summons a translucent wall in front of him, creating a barrier which narrowly catches the blazing punch, managing to absorb the impact with a visible ripple as a red burst of energy releases from the overwhelming force of the hit, strong enough to knock multiple sofas in the room straight through the surrounding walls by the sheer force of the breeze cast alone.

Driving his fist into the blue wall, the crimson man growls like a feral beast, his body boosting forwards in a red ray while behind the wall flies the man with waving white hair, his keen blue eyes staring straight at his adversary while still remaining backwards relative to the direction of his movement.

Multiple rooms are passed in the time of the fist being against the wall, the house around them only a blur while their stances stall, taking the moment to gaze against each other and analyze their foes.

Blazing radiance seeps out of the demonic scarlet eyes on the black mask, presenting a harsh tenacity.

Waving white locks oscillate in front of the sharp blue eyes on the pale face, exhibiting a vigorous persistence.

In the blink of an eye, a red stream of flames bursts out of the chaser’s forearm like a volcanic eruption, darting past the blue wall and next to the aged man, where its great volume is then contorted into the large yet sleek shape of the common vehicle.

Glaring through the blue wall, the hoary man’s tight expression is abruptly loosened after hearing the blaring sound of an engine’s roar, to which he faces the source straight to his left.

Instantaneously upon turning his head, the man’s once sharp eyes flatten, although his black pupils dilate on the drop of his heartbeat.

A red-wrapped pod crashes straight into the senile man’s side, picking him up against its nose before driving him straight into the wall ahead, smashing through it with a ginormous hole to which it repeats the same action in the next room, and then the next, gripping the man at the front as its engine rages.

Sofas are ripped apart and tables are split into halves as the pod rams through all seamlessly, tearing through the house with the target at the very front, taking the full force of every breakage to his home on the tip of the vehicle. Plants are slaughtered and cabinets crumble, and in all the calamity the pod suffers not a single scratch, for it was perfectly protected by the man leaning against the front.

Unforgiving, the pod shows no sign of deceleration, but instead relentlessly rams into the shattering walls using the decrepit man as its head, who isn’t even able to release a groan from the overwhelming agony of the staggering blunt force.

Through another wall the pod busts through, racing into the wide main corridor, passing over the crystallic white floor which no longer shines due to the lack of light to brighten it. It then reaches the opposite wall, torpedoing straight through not only the wall but a row of white cabinets before abruptly bursting into red flames, throwing the man forwards with all the momentum it accumulated into the black countertop which snaps in half on impact before at last slamming onto the surface of the dining table, where his body then rolls over the table–crashing through the pan of seafood boil leftovers which fling backwards onto the walls– and collapses on the floor where he crashes into the row of pots carrying plants above the screen.

A massive gaping hole in the white wall remains above the demolished cabinets of the kitchen, and on the border of the sunroom both halves of the black countertop abruptly drop.

On the other side of the dining table, a fatigued old groan finally is able to release from below the window screen displaying the black night surrounded by spoils of food plastered over the white wall, slowly sliding down after all of the remains are lost.

Then miraculously the exhausted man stands up, somehow getting back on his feet after the horrible strike, and he places one hand over his ribs while hunched forwards in a clear display of excruciation. He coughs twice before then wincing in pain.

Still desperately trying to recover, the aged man raises his head, peering through the thick flames remaining in the absence of the pod, and through the red blaze appears the crimson man, soaring forward with his fist forward, pursuing the aged man relentlessly.

Acting quickly on little recovery, the aged man throws himself onto his feet and quickly grabs the edge of the dining table before slamming his arms downward with a blue propulsion, causing the whole table to flip into a wall right in time as the crimson man punches straight through it, immediately triggering cracks to form around the table and for shards to start slipping off.

The crimson man, impatiently, grabs both edges of the circular hole his fist made, before then making an outward pulling motion amplified with red streaks along both arms, which in turn rips the entire table in half, throwing both halves on different sides of the room.

Completely uncovering the aged man, the crimson man dashes forward and grabs the target’s shoulders with both hands, slamming him into the window screen exhibiting the starless night, and crashing him through the pots and plants below the screen before putting him against the wall.

Before the aged man could escape, the crimson man immediately begins pummeling him in the stomach with rapid punches using flaring red fists, causing the man to groan in pain as he feels the suppressed yet still tremendously painful strikes all land on him. The barrage of fists speeds up into red blurs, becoming so rapid that they were imperceivable, only the effect was as evident on the aged man’s agonized face.

The man in red abruptly stops the beatdown to grab the man’s face before then spinning around and throwing him forward, straight through the long unlit metallic chandelier–which snaps and crashes on the ground– and into the far wall, puncturing it with another gaping aperture from the speeding projectile which continues ahead.

In the wide corridor, another hole bursts open, and through the hole the decrepit man’s body flies before crashing into the crystal white ground, bouncing several times back each leaving craters and loud grunts. With one final bounce, his body slides forward until reaching the end of the hallway where the lobby opens up, to which he lets out a soft groan.

He raises his head up groggily, and instinctively begins to crawl towards the lobby with sluggish movements, clearly beaten regardless of how well the suit was protecting him. He groans tiredly, his eyes partly open as he gasps loudly for air.

While he crawls forward, a red glow emits from the hole his body made, and the red glow brightens with a deep whoosh. The closer the glow gets, the more it clarifies into being the body of the crimson man, hovering off of the ground without moving his own body, but instead gliding down the corridor with his cape waving behind himself.

He moves at a far greater rate than the crawling aged man without even moving a muscle, drifting towards the end of the hall with only the whooshing sound, his chains resting silently on his body as he effortlessly approaches his victim.

Across the two men, forth in the wide lobby where the black night faces them on the wide windows leading up the many floors, a mysterious entity drops straight down into the floor, crashing into the ground in front of them by the translucent door.

Both of the men raise their heads up at the randomly plummeted entity, both shocked and perplexed by the event, as even the crimson man momentarily halts although remains above the ground.

Over the crash site in front of the door of the mansion, a woman with short amber hair appears standing, dressed in a green tank top and shorts, seeming to be dressed in pajamas for she had just woken up. Both of her knees and feet are golden with the intricate pattern of shards, part of her cybernetic form already revealed. iHer golden eyes glare ahead with concern, assessing the situation as she glances down at the hoary man’s crawling body, and then up at the one floating above.

Her eyes widen upon analyzing the crimson man, to which both of her forearms transform, becoming slightly larger and morphing gold as she partly transforms more into her combatively superior form. She then raises both of her arms up as dozens of golden tentacles extend from her back, all of them facing the man above with barrels at the end of each of them, ready to fire.

Through a fierce face, she then mutters bitterly, “Exitium.”

Behind the aged man who had stopped crawling, Exitium eyes straight back at the woman gazing at her for a few seconds in silence.

He then greets back, “Dana, I’d never have thought to see you here.”

Behind Dana, a pink radiating bolt plummets straight into the ground, and upon impact it bursts wide into a puffy pink construct with odd red veins pulsating inside, shaped similarly to a bean bag. Following the bolt, another entity crashes down, right on the puffy pink construct which curls inward to pad the impact, thick enough not to let it drop onto the ground.

A second after, another entity drops from above, although rather than the others this one slowly descends down, allowing itself to be perceivable before needing to land. The entity is a young adult woman dressed in a loose short sleeve white shirt and pink shorts, with long flowing pink hair and brightly illuminated pupils with a horizontal streak of pink arcs along her iris through the pupils.

Her neck also has bright pink streaks bent like lightning, and constantly emerging off her body are long arcs of pink energy like electricity, seeming to help her lower herself. Her body consistently sparks with overwhelming power, even though she too is dressed in pajamas.

As the girl lands her feet on the ground and staggers forward, her body stops sparking, and her pupils stop flaring, revealing a confuddled expression.

Next to her, an old slender man pulls himself out of the pink pad, throwing himself off and onto his feet, dressed in a black jumpsuit with a few purple stains. He raises his bald head up, revealing yellow eyes also with a confused expression, not immediately familiar with the situation regardless of how haphazardly he joined it. In his hands is his makeshift handgun resembling a revolver with wires wrapping around the barrel.

The two stand behind Dana, facing the two men across from them, and upon noticing the scene they both dawned concerned faces while still not fully understanding the events unfolding before and now around them.

In front of the young woman and old man, Dana lets out a disapproved sigh, keeping her gaze forward but admonishing quietly, “I told both of you to stay upstairs.”

Behind Dana, Ekitai shrugs his shoulders and makes the blatant excuse, “I got curious, I wanted to see what was up.”

Beside Ekitai, Kokei tilts her head around Dana to gaze at the man in the air, ignoring Dana’s words and instead quietly wondering, “What’s happening…?”

After experiencing the triple entrance, Exitium slowly begins to start gliding forward again, to which Kokei stumbles backwards, and Ekitai holds his handgun over his forehead to peer curiously at the intruder without any concern while Kokei cowered.

Dana maintains her ground, all of her tentacles aiming at Exitium as she glares fiercely, watching him continue towards the aged man.

Only after moving a few feet forward, Exitium stops again, this time tilting his head as if he was puzzled. He stares at the three, analyzing their current states, stalking them as Kokei takes another step back, Ekitai remaining open to attack with his handgun not even aiming in the general direction of the true threat, and Dana prepares her tentacles to attack.

Exitium contemplatively hums before straightening his neck, studying the three keenly, interested in their presences. He then lowers his head down at the aged man, watching him lay helplessly on the floor. He stares at the decrepit man for a few seconds, then raises his head at Ekitai, and then double takes back at the same dreary man back on the ground.

He moves his gaze to Kokei, studying her hair before counting, “‘Girl with pink hair,’” then to Dana and her golden arms and leg where he confirms, “‘Golden person,’” and finally to Ekitai, where he stares at him for a prolonged period, multiple long moments.

He then quickly glimpses at the aged man on the floor, then to Ekitai, and constantly back and forth while recalling, “‘old…man….’”

Perplexed, Exitium raises his gaze back to Dana before threatening, “Bring me Meditat, I’ll let you decide who goes first.”

Also perplexed, Ekitai’s head tilts before he glances at the aged man before querying, “Wait…isn’t that him?”

Now lost in a mental maze, Exitium follows Ekitai’s gaze into the aged man on the ground, watching him in a paused, helpless crawl, pathetically laying on the floor.

“Of course not, this is…-” Exitium argues before his voice tapers off after analyzing the aged man longer, recalling the description given for the target by the leader back in the prison.

‘...wearing a leather jacket…’

In dismissal, Exitium shakes his head before quarreling, “No, that’s not him, this is some random man who happens to be wearing a leather jacket, but I’m not that foolish to take this husk for him.”

He then raises his head at the three standing across the lobby, and red flames begin to seep out of his body, forming a wall around him before being shaped into about a dozen familiar viking axes, although still remain as simply constructs of fire rather than solid objects.

Priming his attack, Exitium intriguely observes, “I was under the presumption that you three were allies of his, such as a team, but I wouldn’t go so far to label you acquaintances, not of him nor of each other.”

Befuddled, the three standing on the other side of the lobby glance at one another with stupefied faces, listening to Exitium elaborate, “No, I’ve studied his old team, they were synchronous, not a mess. I don’t sense any trust in either of you, not for each other, and not even in yourselves. None of you are truly forward with each other, probably hiding secrets behind your backs. I expected to be facing a team but this, this is a disappointment.”

Floating amongst the array of fire axes, Exitium declares, “None of you are threats, so I see no entertainment in dismantling either of you. It’s a shame, for Meditat to make such a boldly idiotic move for nothing.”

He then raises his arm up at the three, to which all the flame axes suddenly are flung towards them as if thrown, and they all manifest into solid viking axes with the dark crimson blades, each of them hot red with red flames venting off, creating a ring of fire as they spin towards the three.

“NO!” shrieks the aged man in ear piercing cosmic desperation, reaching his right hand forward as his void pupils flare bright blue.

As the array of axes fly past him, his hand flashes before a stream of azureus flames burst forward, passing the axes immediately and approaching the three speedily down the lobby while he continues to scream.

The flames then suddenly expand flat, forming a massive barrier in the center of the lobby that covers not just the main floor but also rises up several stories up the long walls.

Right as the viking axes are about to pass through the flames, they transfigure into a great wall of jagged frosty crystals, drawing a wall through the lobby which appears natural like cave crystal formations, although much greater in magnitude.

The wall is several feet thick, blocking out the three behind it as they narrowly get between the group and the axes.

As the axes strike the crystal wall, they clang loudly with a red flash before then collapsing onto the ground, being repelled by the huge wall.

Every axe flung simply flies into the wall and bounces off, with each only managing to chip at the wall, causing small frosty chunks to collapse on the ground with them. Nonetheless, every axe is successfully repelled, and yet the wall remains standing strong.

On the other side of the wall, Dana’s golden eyes widen as her tentacles begin moving to observe the wall, and beside her Kokei stumbles backwards again while Ekitai begins walking forwards in astonishment to the creation.

Facing the wall, the man in the air tilts his head before lowering it down at the aged man on the ground, watching him slowly push himself off of the floor and stand up on his feet.

Isolated from the group, the aged man turns around to face Exitium, his eyes gleaming azure and both of his fists now flaming the same shade. He pants heavily as the flames from his hands rise past him up the lobby, standing his ground against the man above him.

Staring down at the man on the ground in flames, Exitium observes for a few seconds before ascertaining in an astounded voice, “Wait, Meditat, this is you?! You’re hideous, unrecognizable, what happened to you these ten years?”

Grunting heavily while facing the intruder, Meditat doesn’t respond, still seeming to be processing his own power, panting heavily as flames seep out of his hands.

A soft sigh of disappointment exudes from Exitium, staring down at Meditat, the leader of the three. He then closes both of his fists, and red flames begin to release steadily out of his, priming himself for a second round.

He then callously taunts, “You, now you’re really trying to mess with me. It’s one thing to be handed a family and blindly accept them, it’s another to seek being accepted by one that’s already existed and simply inviting you, but now…now you’re the one forming and leading them. I couldn’t believe it then, and I still can’t now. Did my last lesson not make it clear to what extent I was willing to go, how far I would push myself to carry out the promise I made to you so long ago? Did you really believe that in time I would simply ease off, that you could somehow cheat your way into doing as you please? Meditat…you’ve taken three innocent people, people who might’ve lived whole fruitful lives and accomplished their whole meaningless dreams, and you’ve killed all of those people.”

As Meditat glares up at Exitium, he listens to him declare, “Now, for as long as you reject death, there will be no corner of reality that I won’t go to find you and them, and I promise that I will carry the vow I made from the beginning.”

“Anyone you falsely deem as family will die.”

Through gritted teeth, Meditat releases a scream before leaping off the ground, and flying straight through Exitium before continuing straight up and crashing through the ceiling.

Roaring violently, Meditat clings onto Exitium’s shoulders as he flies him up every floor, crashing through each floor and ceiling, screaming out loud as layers of azureus flames cover his entire body.

On the bottom layer of fire manifests the azure blue fabric suit, covering nearly his entire body from his ankles to his wrists to his neck. On the center of his chest is the pencil emblem glowing brightly, with streaks covering his body once again, albeit slightly different, as no longer are there any curving around his back and only one up his shoulder, and the streaks reaching his limbs no longer branch off but instead are singular rays.

Continuing higher up the house, the two crash through an empty bedroom, flying straight through a hovering king sized bed next to an arched window which sits next to a similarly shaped mirror.

Rising higher, the next layer of fire cements itself with white pads on his outer thighs and under his forearms, although it’s noticeable that the leather making the thigh pads has tears and holes similar to the pads under the arms.

Relentless, they soar straight through the air hockey room, breaking through the center of the cylindrical rink and soaring up to the high ceiling, passing the two small locker rooms and the small platforms outside the rink for easy suiting.

Climbing further up, flames solidify into black boots and the black gauntlet, although the boots only reach up little past the heel as if they’re just shoes, and the gauntlets are more like gloves as they only begin a little behind the wrists.

Endlessly screaming, Meditat charges Exitium through the floors of his own house as his golden shoulder guards and belt appear in the next transformation, although the guards are instead two separate pauldrons over only the shoulders, neglecting his upper arms and neck completely. His belt also lacks the smaller pencil emblem entirely.

The higher he reaches, the more flames crawl down his body, forming the shape of his cape as well as the hood albeit not over his head but instead down. They stop however at the hips before solidifying into the cape, composed of a wider chainmail-esc material with visible apertures that reveal his back, more like a fence than a flag.

Ultimately the two burst out of the final ceiling and through the dark gray roof of the mansion, which is curved as a smooth triangular prism.

High in the air the blue comet soars straight up like a beacon, passing the gray roof and continuing without rest higher up, the fiery blue trail showing no end as above the comet, being taken on the ride above by the head, where Meditat bolts, clutching onto the intruder in his incomplete suit, a parody of its former self yet still aiming to be as it once was.

The suit was rather mediocre, a noticeable downgrade from what it once was as there was a struggle to create its full design. This was the best that could be done, a half baked product that only held resemblance in color but didn’t feel the same.

Still, the short black cape waves with his white locks, maintaining form as Meditat’s teeth remain tightly clenched, projecting all the energy he could into this battle which he hoped would never occur, but one that he was now faced with. It was either him, or them, and he had to do his best to handle a situation he knew he wouldn’t be easily able to stand against.

It was a miracle that Meditat was still managing to hold his own, although in truth he was avoiding direct combat, instead trying to displace the scene further as he knew it was the most effective method in protecting the three down on the ground.

While at first he was even hesitant to let them live with him, now he realized under no circumstance could he let them perish. He had been granted a staggering revelation followed by a tortuous burden weighed with guilt, and he had no choice but to take on the burden and not let go. It didn’t matter what else happened, as long as he didn’t let the three die, he would be victorious.

Until that objective was deemed obtained, he couldn’t even think about loosening up, he had to give his all in this fight, and he had to win it, not slowing down until he was sure it was over.

Not just for him, not just for the three on the ground, but for ‘them.’

Up in the blank black sky, Meditat cries out loud while clinging onto Exitium, trying to bring him further from the house as the final layer of flames rests over his shoulder blades, fingers, shins, and feet, exactly where the frosty crystals would be.

His ferocious shining blue eyes glare straight into Exitium’s gaze, his pale face lit from the moonlight as his four locks of hair wave in the strong winds of their rising altitude.

Just as he pushes all of the air from his lungs, he pushes all the strength from himself as his screams reach a peak, overwhelmed with emotional hatred that could only be held towards a single person, one person who no matter what had to be eliminated. In that moment, all that mattered was that whatever would happen, he would make the ending inevitable.

In The Black Void, The Rusty Blue Key Cracks.

Strangely Meditat abruptly silences, but furthermore, his blue eyes begin to close as they roll into the back of his head, and his facial muscles loosen up as his jaw hangs open. His death grip on Exitium loosens all the sudden, letting go of him as the azureus flames prepared to form the crystals suddenly vanishes.

Bewildered, Exitium simply hovers where he was let go, unharmed but staring down on Meditat, whose entire body flashes blue before his whole suit combusts into flames, erasing his armor and leaving him in his jacket and pants as his body drops from the sky, plummeting straight back down towards the mansion, his arms still raised up as were his legs, tapping out and abruptly losing all the fiery energy he was propelling a moment ago.

Staring straight up, Meditat’s vision blurs tremendously while also beginning to shrink, silently watching Exitium loom over him, his cape breezing in the air as his red eyes judgingly stalks Meditat’s plummet. A deafening ring blares in his ears as he loses all other audibility as well as the ability to move his body. The further he descends, the more blurred his vision becomes, until Exitium is nothing more than a red blob against a black background.

Darker blobs appear at the edge of Meditat’s peripheral as he falls through the roof, and his eyes continue to close as the red blob remains in place above him, the heat of battle immediately extinguished by the one carrying the torch.

He did give his all.

Then, everything goes black and silent.