The room simmered with boiling rage, the air thick with tension as Vance finished recounting the horrors he had extracted from the Ember's memories. Silence reigned for a moment, but it was the kind that crackled with contained fury, an explosion waiting for a spark.
Dante slammed his fist against the wall, the force splintering the surface before his mana instinctively repaired the damage, stone knitting itself back together. Selene, usually indifferent and aloof, had her ice aura flickering, tendrils of cold mist swirling around her hands, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. April paced the length of the room, her boots hitting the ground in an angry, rhythmic thud, her fingers curling into tight fists that she occasionally smashed into her open palm.
Corbin had taken off his glasses, gripping them in his hand as his mind raced through possibilities. He was supposed to be the calm, logical one, but even now, as he ran through scenarios, a primal, gut-wrenching fury twisted in his chest. How could they just sit here after hearing this?
Garrick, having listened in silence, finally stood. His movement was deliberate, measured—a stark contrast to the barely restrained emotions crackling through the room.
"You guys do not make a move until I get back," he ordered, voice firm but heavy.
He turned toward the exit, but April's voice sliced through the tension before he could leave.
"You still want us to just sit here and do nothing?" she snapped, turning to face him fully. Her eyes burned with raw fury. "You heard Vance. There is no Ashborne there! We should go in and raze that entire place to the ground."
Dante, still fuming, crossed his arms. "Come on, boss. You know very well that every second we wait is another second those bastards continue their experiments."
Garrick turned, surveying his team. His gaze landed on Vance, whose bloodied hands had yet to dry, the horror of what he had witnessed still evident in his vacant stare. Then Selene, standing stiff as though holding back the urge to kill something. His eyes finally settled on Corbin, the one he knew he could trust to think with his head rather than his heart.
"What do you think?" Garrick asked, his tone calm despite the storm in the room.
Corbin exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a brief moment before answering. "Honestly? My head is telling me one thing, and my heart is telling me another."
His voice was steady, but the weight behind it was immense.
"My head is telling me to wait for reinforcement, to let things play out without going in like fools." He paused, then slowly opened his eyes, locking his gaze with Garrick's. "But my heart? My heart won't accept that."
The silence stretched, his next words filling the space with undeniable conviction. "My heart is telling me we can't leave those kids in the hands of those monsters any longer. That we need to make them pay."
Garrick fought the war inside himself, battles waged between duty and rage, logic and morality. He wanted a clear solution—one that didn't end in disaster.
"So, what conclusion do you have?" he asked, hopeful for an answer that wouldn't push them into chaos.
Corbin sighed, slowly placing his glasses back on and adjusting them. "We hit the hospital, but not as an assault. A retrieval mission. We get in, we get the kids out, and we disappear."
Garrick exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. "I need time to think. No one moves until I get back."
Dante wordlessly opened the earthen exit, allowing Garrick to step out into the cool night air.
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The breeze was crisp against his face, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension underground. The streets of Doitand stretched ahead, dimly illuminated by flickering streetlights, shadows shifting unnaturally in the alleys. He walked in silence, hands in his pockets, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
Despite the planet's technological advances, places like Doitand remained untouched by progress, a relic of a time that should have faded. Beggars lined the streets, ignored by most, pitied by few.
He passed an old woman, her frail hands shaking as she held up a plate, her blind eyes unseeing. Something about her presence itched at the back of his mind, but he ignored it, tossing a gold coin into her plate.
Her fingers snapped forward, clamping onto his wrist like iron.
His breath hitched. She was strong—far stronger than she should be.
Her eyes turned white, and she began to murmur, her voice a whispering echo that shouldn't have been possible.
"Blood will rain beneath the embered sky… a spear will shatter, a warrior will fall… Death will wear a face you have yet to know."
The world shifted.
He was no longer in Doitand.
The ground beneath him was blackened rubble, the sky a deep crimson red, ashen ruins stretching endlessly. He looked down—his spear lay shattered at his feet, his hand dripping with his own blood.
"The path is paved, your end is written. You must leave this place, or the abyss will claim you."
His ears rang with distant screams. The corpses of the fallen, blood pooling together in streams of deep red, merging into a sea that surged toward him. He stumbled back as it swallowed his feet, the current pulling him toward a jagged spire.
"A blade unseen. A force untouched. Even the strongest storm bends to an unseen wind."
His body was hurled forward, a sharp pain piercing his chest as darkness devoured him.
"You should have left."
He gasped, tearing his hand from the woman's grip. She collapsed, her body shaking violently.
He stumbled back, breath ragged. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and for the first time in years, his hands trembled.
What the actual fuck…
He turned and walked away, quickly, needing distance from that accursed woman. His mind raced, trying to rationalize what had just happened, but his thoughts were cut short by a scream.
________________________________________
"Please take me instead!"
The anguished cry sliced through the night, sending a cold chill down Garrick's spine.
A crowd had gathered, forming a half-circle around a mother, her voice raw from screaming. She struggled against two men restraining her, her nails digging into their arms as she tried to fight.
Two children were being dragged into a dark van, their terrified cries muffled by the sound of the engine revving.
Garrick's muscles coiled, his rage boiling over.
"Looks like I've found the perfect punching bag to relieve all this tension."
He pulled out his spear, the weapon humming with raw essence.
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it forward.
The metal screeched as it punctured the front of the van, pinning it to the ground. The kidnappers froze, turning their heads in panic.
Garrick cracked his knuckles, stepping forward, his eyes gleaming with barely restrained fury.