Sol moved like a ghost through the city, his presence nonexistent to those who failed to look beyond the surface. The first stage of his plan had already been completed—DreamCorp was on edge, their forces stretched thin, their paranoia festering like a slow-growing disease. But that wasn't enough. It was time to escalate.
For the past few days, he had been weaving through DreamCorp's bases, scouting their setups, slipping into their compounds undetected. His illusions and the camera scramblers were proving invaluable. To the security feeds, he simply didn't exist. And for those inside? A creeping exhaustion filled the air—an unnatural drowsiness that sent them into a deep, dreamless sleep before they even realized something was wrong.
The cause? The flowers he carried, hidden beneath his illusions. Two large blossoms, their petals carrying the potent spores he had cultivated. Every step he took released a fine mist, a silent lullaby that left DreamCorp's enforcers slumped over consoles, weapons slipping from their hands. By the time he reached their central data hubs, the bases were hushed, their personnel sprawled unconscious across desks and floors.
That was when the real damage began.
Sol moved through the silent corridors, planting the EMP bombs with precision. These weren't designed to kill—no, he had no interest in bodies piling up. But data? Systems? The very foundation of DreamCorp's operations? Those could burn.
As he walked out, unseen, he would press the detonator, watching from a safe distance as the bases flickered, their lights sparking, servers frying in an instant. Three times, he had done this. Three districts, three crippled operations. And yet, they still hadn't caught even a whisper of him.
In response, DreamCorp had tightened their security. More troops, more drones, more desperate measures. And yet, none of it mattered. Their men were exhausted, paranoia running unchecked. Some refused to sleep, others jumped at shadows, swearing they saw things lurking just out of reach. They weren't even safe in their own barracks. Their fear only made them more vulnerable.
But now, it was time for the third step. A direct hit. The troops' main base.
This would be harder—security was suffocatingly tight, patrols were doubled, and automated defenses were online at all times. But Sol didn't care. He moved with purpose, slipping past the reinforced gates with the same ease as before, his illusions bending reality to his will. Camera feeds scrambled at his presence, flickering to nonsense images and recorded loops, sending the troops on wild chases in all the wrong places while he moved freely elsewhere.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Soldiers whispered in hushed voices, their fingers gripping their weapons like lifelines. The fear was palatable. Sol had to resist the urge to laugh.
This is what happens when you pick a fight with me.
He navigated through the hallways, planting his final set of bombs—ones far more dangerous than before. These wouldn't just wipe out data. These would send a message. But even now, he couldn't bring himself to cross the line into lethal territory.
To compensate, he added a few of his personal toys—small, round devices that, upon detonation, would unleash a cacophony of flashing colors and deafening noise. Each one bore Peach's likeness, and the moment they activated, the tiny bear would start screaming in an exaggerated, high-pitched voice: "THE PLACE IS GONNA BLOW! EVACUATE! TEN... NINE... EIGHT..."
It was the kind of psychological torment that would send the already paranoid troops into full-blown hysteria. Sol smirked, picturing the scene. This would cause chaos without taking lives. That was enough.
As he reached the final placement, he took one last look at the chaos he had sown. Then, with a smirk, he slipped into the shadows, disappearing as easily as he had come.
But he wasn't alone.
A figure moved in the darkness, trailing Sol's steps with predatory precision. Unlike DreamCorp's over-reliant security teams, this one didn't depend on cameras or sensors—he relied on something far more primal.
The scent of burned circuits, disturbed dust, and lingering sleep spores clung faintly to the air. Subtle, nearly undetectable, but to a trained hunter? It was a trail as clear as blood on fresh snow.
A mercenary—one of the few DreamCorp had deemed worthy of a simple, brutal order: Bring Sol in, no matter what.
The hunter watched from the shadows, observing how Sol moved, how he disappeared into the city like mist in the wind. His target was good—too good. DreamCorp had grossly underestimated what they were dealing with. But he was patient. He knew better than to strike too soon.
So he followed, silent as death, waiting for his moment.
And then, he struck.
Just as Sol reached for the detonator, a blur of movement lashed out from the shadows. A gloved hand shot forward, fingers closing around Sol's wrist in an iron grip. Before he could react, a powerful force yanked him backward, sending him off balance. Sol's instincts screamed at him, his body twisting midair as he landed in a controlled roll, immediately regaining his footing. His heart pounded in surprise.
The mercenary emerged fully from the darkness, a towering figure clad in reinforced armor that bore no insignia. His face was hidden beneath a sleek helmet, red optics glowing dimly as he sized Sol up. "You're a hard man to catch," the mercenary rasped, his voice distorted through a modulator. "Too bad for you, I was built for this."
Sol flexed his fingers, rolling his wrist, the skin already turning red and swollen from the sheer force of the grip. The man was strong—dangerously so. Sol kept his face neutral, masking the discomfort behind a lazy grin.
"Damn, you almost scared me there," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I almost—almost—broke a sweat."
Inwardly, he was already on high alert. This wasn't some run-of-the-mill enforcer. This was someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
The mercenary didn't take the bait. "You're coming with me. Unconscious or broken—doesn't matter which."
Sol's eyes gleamed as he exhaled. "Well," he mused, adjusting his stance, "this should be fun."
The fight had begun.
A flicker of light, a ripple in the air—his illusions activated instantly, bending reality itself. To an untrained eye, it would seem as though a dozen Sols exploded outward, darting in every direction, weaving between shadows and light. The mercenary, however, did not hesitate.
With practiced efficiency, he whipped out a modified plasma blade, its edge humming with unstable energy. He didn't strike wildly. Instead, he sniffed the air once, then lunged—straight for the real Sol.
Sol barely had time to think before instinct took over. He slammed his foot down, vines bursting from the ground in a desperate shield. The plasma blade cut through them like butter, slicing cleanly through his defenses, but it gave him just enough time to jump back, narrowly avoiding the strike.
The mercenary was relentless. The moment Sol's feet hit the ground, the man surged forward again, closing the gap with terrifying speed. Sol twisted his body mid-air, barely managing to duck beneath another vicious swing, the searing hum of the blade dangerously close to his face.
Sol landed, but before he could stabilize himself, the mercenary was already on him. A crushing fist slammed into his ribs, sending him skidding back. Pain flared through his side—his opponent wasn't just fast; he hit like a freight train. Sol coughed but forced himself to stay light on his feet, shifting his weight as the mercenary closed the distance once more.
Sol flung an illusion outward, trying to disorient him, but the man didn't stop.
The mercenary's head jerked slightly, as if he felt the shift, but he pushed forward, barely fazed. He was tracking Sol through smell and sound. Not sight. Illusions weren't enough.
He's too fast. I need to slow him down.
Sol flicked his wrist, releasing a burst of spores from his hidden flowers, but the mercenary anticipated the move. He pressed a button on his armor, and a pulse of heat erupted from his suit, incinerating the spores before they could take effect.
"Tch," Sol clicked his tongue in annoyance.
The mercenary used the moment to lunge again, slashing horizontally. Sol barely avoided the plasma blade, but the tip grazed his arm, leaving a searing burn. He hissed, biting down the pain.
This guy isn't just a brute. He's prepared for me.
Sol needed an opening. Something to shift the momentum.
The mercenary lunged again, but this time, Sol didn't retreat. Instead, he stepped forward, ducking low, letting the blade pass harmlessly overhead. As he moved in close, his hands shot up, vines exploding outward, wrapping around the man's arms, legs, and torso in an attempt to lock him down.
For a second, it worked.
Then, with sheer brute force, the mercenary ripped through the vines, snapping them like brittle twigs. He snarled beneath his helmet, grabbing Sol by the throat and slamming him into the ground.
The impact sent a shockwave of pain through Sol's back. The mercenary pressed down, his grip tighteningm around his throat.
"End of the line," the mercenary growled, raising his plasma blade for the final strike.
Sol's vision blurred, but through the haze, he focused everything on one last illusion. A deep one.
He snapped his fingers.
The world around them fractured.
The mercenary faltered for the first time. His breath hitched as reality itself shattered like glass, leaving him in an endless abyss. He was alone. The weight of nothingness pressed against him, an empty void stretching beyond human comprehension. And then—
Eyes.
Two massive, cosmic eyes opened in the darkness, galaxies swirling within them. They bore into his soul, unrelenting, watching, dissecting.
A voice, Sol's voice, boomed in the mercenary's skull like thunder ripping apart the cosmos.
You've lost.
The mercenary trembled, knees buckling. But then—
A snarl. A pulse of sheer willpower. His body shook violently—and then, he broke free.
Sol's illusion collapsed, the abyss shattering back into the real world. The mercenary was panting, drenched in sweat, but still standing. Still moving.
He resisted it?!
Sol barely had time to react as the mercenary lunged again.
No choice.
Sol clenched his teeth, his muscles screaming from the relentless assault. His body moved on instinct, barely keeping up. The mercenary was fast—too fast. Sol had never faced someone who could track him through illusions, react so quickly, and break through his defenses so brutally.
I need more speed.
Gritting his teeth, he called upon his Time Affinity.
Everything around him slowed. The air grew thick, his perception sharpening as his body moved faster than ever before. The mercenary lunged, but now Sol saw the motion in frames, saw the precise moment to evade. He twisted, slipping past the plasma blade with inches to spare.
Not just his movements—his vines. He pushed his Time Affinity further, his plants responding with unnatural speed. Thick vines lashed out like whips, striking faster than before, forcing the mercenary to go on the defensive for the first time.
Sol exhaled sharply. This was his chance.
His opponent was skilled, but even he couldn't keep up with someone moving faster than his own reflexes allowed. Sol blurred forward, using his vines to strike at joints, force missteps, disrupt balance. The mercenary grunted as a vine snagged his leg, jerking him to the side. Sol moved in—
But the mercenary still wouldn't go down.
With sheer force, he ripped free and roared, his blade flashing in a wide arc. Sol barely ducked, but the heat singed his hair. Damn it, even with my speed, he's still dangerous.
He needed to end this. Now.
Sol's hand shot forward, vines bursting outward, not to trap—but to pierce.
The mercenary's momentum carried him forward—straight into Sol's final attack.
The vines speared through the gaps in his armor, twisting around his ribs and driving deep.He let out a sharp, choked gasp, his plasma blade faltering.
For the first time, he staggered.
He tried to move, tried to break free like before—but the damage was done. His body convulsed, blood dripping from his lips.
"…Hah," the mercenary exhaled, voice weak but amused.
Sol met his gaze. "Should've let me go."
The mercenary let out a final chuckle. Then, with a thud, he collapsed.
The fight was over.
Sol stood there, breathing hard, his hands trembling. He had no choice.
He told himself that.
But as he looked at the unmoving body before him, the weight of what he'd done settled in.
A deep breath. A slow exhale.
Before he left, Sol's gaze fell on the fallen detonator near the mercenary's lifeless hand. Slowly, he bent down, picking it up with trembling fingers. He pressed the button.
In the distance, an explosion of sound erupted—Peach's high-pitched voice rang out gleefully, "THE PLACE IS ABOUT TO BLOW IN 30 SECONDS!" followed by loud clapping, laughter, and an over-the-top countdown.
Sol barely reacted. His shoulders sagged, his breaths coming in slow, measured drags. The weight of the fight, of what he had done, clung to him heavier than any wound. Without looking back, he walked into the darkness, his steps uneven, his eyes hollow.
Behind him, the chaos erupted.
Screams filled the air as DreamCorp soldiers and personnel ran in panic, their boots slamming against the metal floors in frantic desperation. The alarms blared, red lights flashing wildly as they scrambled to evacuate. Peach's countdown continued, the high-pitched voice laughing as the numbers ticked lower and lower.
Then, a thunderous explosion tore through the night. The ground trembled beneath Sol's feet, the force of the blast sending shockwaves through the district. A fiery glow illuminated the area for just a moment before flickering out, leaving behind only the echoes of destruction.
Sol didn't turn around.
He simply disappeared into the abyss, swallowed by the shadows, leaving only a nightmare in his wake.