A serene tranquility consumed Ian, amplifying his other senses as he peered through the gaps of trembling fingers. Fingers dug into his skin desperately. He felt detached, a floating phantom hovering as a bystander.

  In his ears, the woman's heartbeat hummed alongside the strings of energy looped within her body. A squeeze elicited a gasp, and a release gave an illusion of relief.

  There she lay beneath him; the acclaimed superior of humanity, the evolved, and sole reason for Guides to exist—

  —Powerless.

  What defined power and absolute superiority? When it was this easy for the weak to become supreme, and the supreme to descend from grace.

  Behind, William embraced Sylvan tightly, as if he feared letting go. Their clothes had been soaked, coated in grime and stray filaments of unknown substances.

  His grip tightened, staring with horror-stricken eyes. From his position by the shore, he could see Ian's gaze.

  Within them was a hollow eternity. An archaic, instinctual hunger and lust for power.

  The hierarchy among humans was repeatedly drilled into their heads. Humankind was to be protected, Espers were evolved beings with the power to protect, and Guides were the energy source that fueled Espers, stronger than regular humans yet inferior.

  But there, with a warped, shadowed expression that couldn't be described, a quiet, subdued power penetrated the air surrounding Ian.

  Clearly, the older Guide was a little oblivious to the world, lacked certain understandings, and often displayed an aloof, but amiable character. It didn't seem to be a lie.

  Then what was the power that seized him, a simmering madness that altered his being?

  A low whistle pierced through the tension, resounding against the walls. The combat team continued to engage the monster, unable to pay attention, but a slender man emerged from the shadows behind them.

  White fabrics draped over his body, loosely tied with a strip around his narrow waist, and long, golden hair drew messily into a high ponytail. His nimble steps leaped from high platforms along the cliff, landing languidly.

  He waved, wearing a lazy smile. "Now, now, what's the excitement going on here?"

  His gaze swept past, briefly landing on Sylvan, whom William held a little tighter.

  Then, his down-turned eyes that carried traces of lazy playfulness, rested on Ian, and a haze of surprise flickered across.

  The beast gurgled, a horrifying sound erupting from its orifices that shook the fragile space around them. Already, the remaining members were fighting a tireless battle and revealed signs of wear, soaked in blood and exhaustion.

  And yet, the monster continued its rampage. Unstoppable.

  The man tutted as he glided across the flesh-soaked shores, unblemished by the chaos. "Always the same. Why bother sending pathetic little weaklings who only know how to sacrifice others, and can't even manage that either?"

  His fingers, adorned in gold rings, delicately waved across the air. A light sparkled, and a beautiful, intricate spear manifested against his palm.

  He lifted it and closed one eye, long lashes fanning his cheekbones. Then, he jumped backwards twice and arched his back before releasing.

  It soared across the skies like a bullet, plunging into the slimy body.

  The monster's flesh bubbled, and nothing happened. Then, it stumbled, froth surfacing on its skin as the gurgles warped into panicked cries. In its lucent body, a small tornado began to spin wildly, expanding by the minute.

  A mangled wail ripped out of the creature's mouth, and the spear drove deeper, slamming into a solid object.

  It took mere seconds–a single, swift movement.

  The combat team watched in terror and amazement as the creature's body crumbled, spilling murky and sticky liquids against the shore. It melted, soaking everybody in a warm, slimy fluid.

  And then it was over. What had required the sacrifice of others was now completed by a man's haphazard javelin.

  Ian straddled the woman, the theatrics snapping him from his messy daze. His head pounded. He crudely wiped away the sticky liquid that clung to his skin, and his ears rang. Loudly. Achingly so.

  When he lifted his gaze, the man lounged before him with a curious smile.

  "An exhibitionist, are you? It isn't every day I see somebody so brave to straddle an Esper in public," said the man smoothly, wagging his finger at the now unconscious woman.

  Pain depleted Ian's patience. "I haven't seen such a nonsense-speaking Esper."

  "Lies," grinned the man, flashing a row of pearly teeth. "The majority speak bullshit as their first language. Something tells me you'd agree with that, cutie. Hm, are you curious about me? You're staring intently enough to make a grown man blush."

  Ian's attention strayed to the melted puddle. The remnants of what had likely been an A-rank. The combat team was significantly strong and in control, although the current system's ranking seemed unreliable to begin with.

  Yet they wouldn't have survived.

  Of course, had the woman succeeded in sacrificing the boy, she would've bought enough time. Just the death of a child for some grand ideal.

  A spark flickered in the depths of his eyes, and a burning flared in his throat.

  The man crouched down, resting his chin in his palm. "Hey, cutie, attention back on me. Sorry, but you should keep your thoughts here. Whatever it is you did can't happen again."

  "What the hell are you saying?"

  "Don't look at me like that, I'm trying to help," smiled the Esper. His friendliness seemed pathetically fake. "My friends happen to be well-informed in experiments, and your state is irregular. Do you feel it? Pain building in your body—you think it's power, but that's your systems failing you."

  A clot formed in Ian's throat as he furrowed his eyebrows, and when he opened his mouth to speak, a cough erupted. Then another. It didn't stop.

  His body folded as it wracked his shoulders, wrenching from his lungs. A splatter came from his mouth, painting his palms scarlet.

  Liquid fell from his mouth, scarlet painting his palm.

  His eyebrows knitted. The Esper watched, crouched low and probing. "Now what did I tell you? I advise a healthy yoga session."

  Ian squinted. "To prevent coughing blood?"

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "To reach inner peace," said the Esper. "You clearly need a lot of it, cutie."

  A scowl quickly appeared over Ian's mouth when his entire body was suddenly yanked back. Into a pair of thinner, but sturdy arms. Sylvan huffed behind him, sweat beading his forehead.

  One arm protectively hugged Ian's waist, and venom whetted his voice. "Stand back, Ares."

  "What a surprise," drawled the man, amused. "I didn't expect to see a familiar face."

  Sylvan's grip squeezed, almost painfully. His accelerated breathing told of his exhausted state, but tension weaved his skin, like a feline on alert.

  Ian lay obediently and glanced sideways. "You know him."

  Sylvan's pupils contracted, hesitating. "They should, too, if they have half a brain." He squinted at the trembling combat team and shook his head. "I take it back. Ares, a high officer of the Aegis Alliance. Of them all, he's unnecessarily high profile."

  "It's not unnecessary," argued Ares. "Why would I disservice the world by hiding my beautiful face?"

  "You'd service the world by hiding your contradicting personality."

  Ares laughed. A sharp sound, almost mocking. "But you agree that my face is beautiful?"

  "I have eyes," spat Sylvan.

  Ian nodded in agreement, causing Sylvan to glance over with faint amusement. They shared the camaraderie of respecting beauty. The kindred spirit nature made Sylvan cuddle a little closer, narrowing his glare at the Esper.

  Ares only hummed. "Beautiful eyes."

  "And you clearly don't." Sylvan tugged at Ian, lightly hinting that he move away. He bent his head, whispering. "I know for sure that you're curious, but not right now. It isn't safe."

  Ares shamelessly eavesdropped, smiling. "Not safe? Surely you hold no fault to me when your lovely teammates exist?" He hummed, cocking his head to Ian. "Or how about this darling who nearly murdered an Esper?"

  Ian's face scrunched, and he opened his mouth to retort, but heat surged up his esophagus and blood spilled onto his lap. He shoved Sylvan away and bent over, hacking his lungs and throat dry.

  It was endless. A searing fire, a kindling cast to fury by oil.

  Agony clawed at his skin like a thousand paper cuts. He gasped, grasping at his chest as the scorching heat enveloped him. Ares stepped back, a frown flickering over his expression.

  "Ian? Hey, Ian? Are you okay? Will!" Sylvan grabbed his shoulder, jerking towards William, who came running at a single word.

  Ian wanted to speak, but every sound felt like a fire scorched in his throat. He wanted to tell that Esper to stop looking at him like a piece of meat that grew legs, and Sylvan to stop shaking his shoulder because he would definitely throw up, and it would not be pretty.

  He wanted to tell William to stop gawking with a conflicted expression that simultaneously wanted to throw him into the nearest chasm and treat him.

  But he could say none of it.

  Not when the ravaging heat, woven of madness and disobedient energy, rushed towards his head. His eyes rolled back. Hands grabbed at his body—only Sylvan's or he would've found a way to rise from the dead and commit a crime—and his consciousness faded.

  Into nothingness.

  Through his aching mind, he drifted in an abyssal sea of darkness. A spark flickered before his eyes, a coloured light that twinkled and dashed away.

  He reached out but couldn't grasp it. Ian didn't chase after things, but he felt a strange need to grab it. Another light appeared, once again speeding away at the tip of his finger.

  Then another, and another, and he was sprinting on an empty surface. Footsteps pounding against some illusory surface.

  It was hopeless, he realized, but his sprint never ceased.

  Even if his lungs gave out.

  Even if his knees folded.

  Even if his life disappeared.

  A fissure tore through the shadows, a white, glowing line that slowly spread. Once one crack splintered the abyss, a dozen more rapidly spread, like extending branches. Like arteries. The entire landscape shattered, fragmenting into countless pieces.

  Mirror shards. This was a dream, he recognized.

  Ian saw dozens of himself reflected in those pieces, all staring back at him with that same impassive face, that same dark resolution.

  Then his entire body jerked, and he flung forward, slamming into a suspiciously solid forehead. Sylvan yelped, slapping his hand over his forehead pitifully as he leaped back.

  Ian blinked. Once, then twice.

  "Where are we?"

  Sylvan craddled his head and wailed. "Am I a watermelon? Should I check for cracks?"

  A thin blanket draped over Ian's body, and he recognized the vehicle as the one that brought them here. It rattled unevenly against the rocky terrain.

  Sylvan rubbed his glumly and crossed his legs. "Some monsters slipped out of the portal, so we were delayed. But we're on our way back. Will, for his dashing abilities, was temporarily dragged to the combat team. It's been like, what, four hours?"

  "They've all returned?"

  "Well, the other bastards left after their team got chopped in half. I'm guessing they're bitter, but whatever. They've named this Rift "Corpse Collector", Rank B. All bodies must remain—they couldn't bring it back even if they wanted."

  Sylvan fiddled with his fingers in his lap. A nervous tic. Ian glanced down briefly before calmly pulling off the blanket. He straightened. "You knew."

  His words struck the other, and Sylvan flinched. "Knew what?"

  "It's better not to play ignorant at this point," said Ian coldly. Something squeezed his hand, and Ian startled at the small teenager curled by his lap. Clutching his fingers. He drew a breath. "The combat team's success is always a priority."

  He thought of Paul's ominous insistence and the woman's casual actions. As if it were the natural order of things to sacrifice and degrade a life.

  It was easy to understand without being informed.

  The foraging team served as a shield to protect the combat team. At the risk of losing lives, the Base prioritized the strong. Those worthy to live.

  All for the sake of humanity.

  The Base's—Humanity's Last Hope—mantra that had been drilled into him the second he could hear. The strongest fortress supposedly held the largest population of survivors, operating on a rigid system to prolong their existence.

  Do not resist the Base. Do not argue. Do not question it in any capacity.

  Ian wanted to sneer and shred it into pieces. Not only did he loathe doing what he was told, but such nonsense only grated on his ears.

  Sylvan's mouth parted and closed, slumping back in defeat. "It's not exactly something I appreciate either! I've wanted to—there are things I can't do, Ian. I tried, I did. It's just... not that easy."

  "You didn't tell me?"

  "Not purposely." Sylvan rubbed his cheeks. "I forgot. It's a poor reason, but I've known it for so long, it's not something I think twice about."

  The necessity of sacrifice should have been obvious, considering Ian's origins, a project locked in an underground facility to fuel their military force. But he still didn't know of the secrecy and structure of the upper base.

  The world under the stars, his sister had longingly dreamed of.

  Beautiful and free. Like nothing they'd ever thought to imagine in that darkness.

  But in the end, it wasn't the inspiring freedom of meadows and delight, a beautiful world granting purpose and existence. All it gave root to was disillusion.

  "If humanity can only survive like this—" In such pathetic, meaningless ways, while clinging to justifications. "Is it worth protecting?"

  The whisper escaped him, and Sylvan's head jerked up. His lips flattened, and he shook his head. "Those are the words of the Aegis Alliance."

  Aegis Alliance, and that man spun of gold like a lounging beast. Ian frowned as the vehicle rumbled uncomfortably beneath him, churning his stomach.

  "Who are they?"

  Sylvan hesitated. He folded his hands, seeming to want to do anything but answer. Then, he sighed, finally. "Rebels. Any system has them. They oppose the Base's methods, but they're no saviours either, Ian. They've killed, stolen, hijacked missions."

  "What are they protesting exactly?"

  What disservice did a group have to face for them to don the cloaks of heresy against humanity's last hope?

  "Some are unproven conspiracy theories. The Center released information to counter it, but we're all just trying to live here. It's hard to say which side is right, but it's a fact that we currently live by the Base's law."

  Ian listened quietly, saying nothing. The man didn't appear to be somebody who would follow the whims of conspiracy theorists, although it was difficult to scrape an individual's true character from their presenting selves.

  He mentally noted their name down. If they kept track of the Base's activities, then they might have an idea of what happened to his sister.

  Her decline became obvious—her elimination as the unknown voices had spoken—who ordered it? And why? His sister had been a token of good behaviour, performing highly. Her fate should've been similar to Lucian's.

  At the thought, that familiar disorder of energy twisted his chest, and he couldn't control it. His entire face burned, skin tingling with heat.

  Sylvan noticed his abnormality and hurriedly clasped his hand. "Hey? Are you still feeling dizzy? I'm really sorry for not telling you. Really, I swear."

  A trickle of cold, refreshing energy washed over him, easing the fire on his limbs. Ian blinked, glancing down where Sylvan's hands rested over his, and a frown flitted over his mouth.

  After the heat dispersed, he lightly drew away. "I'm not mad."

  Sylvan scrunched his nose. "You're frowning."

  "I'm always frowning."

  Sylvan peered over, pressing unnecessarily close with squinted eyes. "You're right. Hey! Now that you say that, isn't it such a waste of a good face? You know, they say frowning ages you—"

  Ian interrupted, raising his chin confidently. "Do I look old to you?"

  The arrogant, tired, and sculpted face stared back at him. Sylvan struggled, squinting to find more notable wrinkles aside from the few that came naturally, and failed.

  He raised his hands in surrender. "I concede. Please frown away, for all of eternity."

  Ian nodded in satisfaction as he reclined, his thoughts drifting. Sylvan continued to explain the Rifts in more detail, along with information about the Aegis Alliance.

  For now, Ian was limited to a few tasks.

  Find a way to cozy up with a member of the Aegis Alliance, participate in more missions to gain experience, and improve his pathetic abilities.

  Then, find a dartboard to purchase, so he could visualize a certain person's face on it to relieve anger.