[Oliver's]

  [Third Floor Initiating.]

  The mechanical voice echoed in Oliver’s ears, but he couldn’t focus on it.

  The world around him had dissolved into nothing. It had no color, no sound, no form. And yet everything he had just seen, everything he had felt, came crashing down on him all at once.

  It was like being struck by lightning.

  Agony. Rage. Hatred.

  They tore through him in a single, blinding surge, burning through his chest like molten metal. He couldn’t tell where Mordred’s emotions ended, and his own began. They were the same now, indistinguishable, fused into a storm of pain and fury that left him trembling.

  He could feel it, the echo of betrayal, the hollow ache of loss, the consuming fire of vengeance.

  When the memory finally released him, Oliver collapsed to his knees, gasping. His breath came in bursts, his body shaking. He didn’t even realize he was crying until the tears hit his hands, warm and wet, mixing with the fine dust on the floor.

  The taste of salt reached his lips.

  For a long moment, he stayed there. The weight of someone else’s past pressing down on his shoulders.

  Then, slowly, he forced himself to breathe.

  In. Out.

  He wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing tears and grime across his skin. The tremors in his hands subsided, though his chest still felt tight, his heart still pounding.

  When he finally lifted his head, the world had changed again.

  He was no longer in the dark chambers of Mordred’s memories.

  He was in a room—a small, circular chamber made of smooth black metal. The air was heavy, humming with Energy.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Seven others were there with him.

  They stood, or leaned, against the walls in silence, all of them watching the massive gate that loomed at the far end of the room. The structure was enormous, its surface covered in intricate engravings. The faint hum of power emanating from it filled the air.

  Oliver’s eyes scanned the faces around him.

  He recognized two immediately.

  Khan.

  Even without his Emerald Armor, the man was unmistakable. He still wore his helmet, its sleek design concealing his face. His posture was relaxed, but nothing about it was casual. It was a false calm of someone ready to fight.

  Beside him stood another figure, one of Khan’s soldiers.

  Unlike his commander, the soldier looked painfully out of place. His uniform was incomplete, his stance defensive, his gaze darting nervously between the others. He kept close to the wall, avoiding eye contact, as if trying to make himself invisible.

  Oliver could feel the unease radiating from him, the quiet fear that came from standing among predators.

  Katherine paced quietly near the far wall. She wasn’t speaking, just watching, watching him.

  Alan stood nearby, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on Mordred, who was still kneeling. The three of them, Katherine, Alan, and Mordred, were studying Oliver.

  Katherine’s eyes were sharp, analytical, but there was something else beneath them. Something colder, more personal.

  'Anger?' Oliver couldn’t tell.

  Alan, on the other hand, looked curious.

  And then there was Mordred.

  He was smiling.

  Not the calm, composed smile of the politician or the strategist. This one was wide. His hands rested loosely on his knees, his posture relaxed, but his eyes… his eyes burned with something Oliver couldn’t name.

  He looked like a man who had seen something he shouldn’t have, and enjoyed it.

  Oliver’s stomach tightened.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  'He saw it,' he realized. 'He saw my memories.'

  The thought hit him like a shock. It made sense. If Oliver had been forced to relive Mordred’s past, to feel his pain, his fury, then the reverse could easily be true. The system, the tower, had linked them.

  But if Mordred had seen what Oliver had seen…

  His hand flew to his face before he could stop himself. His fingers brushed against the faint static hum of his mask, the thin layer of Energy that kept his identity hidden.

  A surge of relief hit him.

  'Still there.'

  He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. But when he looked up, Mordred was laughing.

  Not loudly. Just a low, amused chuckle.

  Oliver froze.

  He didn’t need to hear words to understand.

  Mordred knew.

  The realization sent a cold weight down Oliver’s spine.

  He opened his Status Page with a quick mental command, the holographic interface flickering into view before his eyes.

  The familiar text scrolled across the translucent screen.

  [Glitches]

  | [A Timed Power]

  | You can only use your Green Crystal for 30 minutes.

  | You can pause its use at any moment.

  | [Our Secret]

  | No other Human or Ork must discover that a human is using a Green Crystal.

  | [Oliver the Battery]

  | Upon depleting your Green Crystal, you must invest 168 hours of your Energy production to recharge it.

  He scanned the page twice, his heart hammering.

  'The Green Crystal is still active… does he know?'

  His gaze flicked toward Mordred again. The man’s crimson eyes gleamed. There was nothing human in that stare.

  'Is he even human anymore?'

  Oliver’s gaze lingered on Mordred’s eyes. The thought burned in the back of his mind.

  The Republic of Enceladus had been conducting genetic experiments for years. Reshaping its people into something new. But how deep had those changes gone? How far had they pushed before the line between man and something else vanished entirely?

  And more importantly, how much of that tampering had reached into the [System] itself?

  He didn’t have an answer. Not yet. But for the first time, he began to understand the Republic’s movements.

  Oliver exhaled slowly, steadying himself. His body still ached from the last trial, his mind heavy with the weight of memories that weren’t his. He braced one knee against the floor, pushed himself upright, and took in the room around him.

  Only a few people remained standing.

  Isabela was among them, leaning heavily on Astrid for support. Her hand pressed against the left side of her abdomen, where blood had dried in dark streaks.

  “I’m fine,” she said, her voice tight but steady.

  Astrid didn’t look convinced. Neither did Katherine, who stood nearby, watching her with eyes full of quiet worry. Every time Isabela shifted, Katherine’s hand twitched as if she wanted to help.

  Oliver forced himself to keep his expression neutral. He couldn’t afford to show concern.

  Before he could speak, a voice cut through the tension.

  “Now that he’s awake, can we finally move on with this shit?” Khan stepped forward. His tone was sharp, impatient, dripping with contempt.

  The response came instantly.

  “Watch your tongue, mercenary,” Mordred growled, his voice low but dangerous. “Before I decide to cut it out and wait for others to arrive.”

  The air thickened.

  “Like you did outside?” Khan shot back, taking another step forward. “If you weren’t hiding behind your numbers, you’d be the one bleeding. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

  However, before the first blow could fall, Alan intervened.

  “Enough.”

  His voice was firm, calm, but edged with exhaustion. He stepped between them, placing a hand on Mordred’s shoulder and pushing him back.

  “We’re not doing this again,” Alan said, his tone leaving no space for argument. “We’re tired, we’re injured, and we’re trapped in whatever this place is. The only way out is forward. So get on the platforms, or don’t. But I’m not waiting around for another fight.”

  He sighed, pushing Mordred to the room's center.

  Oliver followed with his eyes, only then noticing what was at the center.

  Eight pedestals stood in a semicircle before the massive gate. Each was carved from the same dark metal as the floor.

  Mordred stepped onto the first pedestal without hesitation, the golden light beneath his boots flaring brighter as if recognizing him. Alan followed, taking his place on the second.

  Next came Khan and his soldier. His subordinate hesitated for a moment, but a sharp glance from Khan sent him onto the fourth.

  Katherine and Astrid supported Isabela, each of them careful with every step. The wounded Ranger’s breathing was shallow, her hand still pressed against her side, but she nodded once when they reached the remaining platforms. The three women took their positions, fifth, sixth, and seventh.

  That left only one.

  Oliver.

  He approached the eighth pedestal. When he stepped onto the platform, the golden glow surged upward, wrapping around him in a brief halo.

  The gate before them groaned before moving.

  The massive doors split apart. A blast of air rushed from the other side, carrying with it the scent of dust, stone, and something else.

  As the light from the platforms illuminated the threshold, the white walls that had defined every floor so far were gone. In their place was stone and metal. Dark, weathered, and carved with intricate patterns.

  The chamber beyond was vast, cathedral-like.

  A hall of kings, if kings had ever ruled this place.

  Tapestries hung from the walls, their fabric heavy and ancient, depicting scenes of conquest and chaos. The colors had long since faded, but faint traces of gold and crimson still glimmered under the light.

  At the end of that path stood a throne.

  It was massive, lined with veins of glowing red Energy that pulsed like veins.

  Something sat upon it.

  The figure was motionless, half-shrouded in darkness.

  Across Oliver’s visor, the [System] flickered to life.

  [Defeat the False Sovereign]

  https://discord.gg/dnPYbzN974.

  https://www.patreon.com/c/GCLopes.