LCB-3 -> Canto 2: Chapter 2
Midterms really kicked me in the shins, along with keeping up with the youtube channel. But, alas, here's the next chapter if you all are still invested. Masterpost Chapter 1 <--> Chapter 3
Just as the elevator door began to slide shut with a mechanical groan, the sharp echo of footsteps rang out from the corridor where the Middle gang had been loitering. The sound was urgent, uneven—someone running. Lenore burst around the corner, her coat flaring behind her like wings caught in a gust. Her boots skidded across the polished floor, and for a moment it looked like she might crash into the wall. But she twisted her body mid-slide, caught the edge of the elevator with one hand, and slipped inside just before the doors sealed with a soft hiss. “Sorry,” she said, breathless, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Didn’t realize the Middle had turned into a full-blown parade.”
No one laughed. The elevator had already begun its descent, humming low and steady beneath their feet. The lights overhead dimmed, shifting from a sterile beige to a muted violet glow that cast strange shadows across their faces. It was the kind of color that made skin look bruised and eyes look hollow. A broken speaker crackled above them, trying to announce the next floor, but the voice was warped—garbled syllables and static, like a drowning man trying to speak through a mouthful of wires.
Dante was already working. He pulled out his pad, fingers moving with practiced urgency. One by one, identities shimmered and changed, flickering like candlelight in the purple haze. Mark’s ID reconfigured into a Middle designation, his features subtly reshaping to match the gang’s aesthetic. Lenore’s badge pulsed with the feathered insignia of her Lobotomy EGO—an honor-bound relic that glowed faintly, like a memory of something sacred. Boy’s ID snapped into place as a Thumb operative, his posture straightening as if the title carried weight. Mallo retained her base identity, her expression unreadable but her stance already braced for impact. Jatayu and Alex were assigned obscure fixer office IDs, the kind that slipped through bureaucratic cracks and left no trace.
Dante hesitated over Hyde’s profile. The cursor blinked. Something about Hyde always made the system stutter.
Before he could decide, the elevator jolted to a stop. The doors slid open with a hiss—and the hallway beyond was already full.
They stood waiting. Peccatulum. Twisted things, wrong things. Their bodies were vaguely human, but stretched and warped, like clay left too long in the sun. Limbs bent at unnatural angles. Eyes gleamed like shattered glass. Their mouths hung open, too wide, too still. They didn’t breathe. They didn’t blink. They just watched.
Boy’s jaw dropped. “What the hell are those things?”
Mark stepped forward, fists clenched. “Things we kill.”
Dante didn’t look up from his pad. “Peccatulum,” he said, voice clipped. “Treat them like distortions.”
Boy fumbled for his notebook, scribbling the word down with shaking hands. “How?”
Mark wiped his face with the back of his hand, eyes locked on the nearest creature. “We kill them.”
Mallo, unusually quiet, gave a single nod. Her fingers flexed around the hilt of her weapon, knuckles pale.
Dante sighed, his voice low and grim. “They’re too far gone. No redemption. No recovery. You kill them.”
Mark didn’t wait. He leapt from the elevator with a roar, boots hitting the ground hard as he charged the nearest peccatulum. Mallo followed, her blade catching the violet light in a flash of silver. Boy shoved his notebook into his coat, drew his identity gun, and sprinted after them. Lenore was close behind, her feathered badge gleaming like a warning.
Alex remained in the elevator, slumped against the wall, eyes closed. Whether he was asleep or simply refusing to engage was unclear.
Hyde stood at the threshold, untouched by Dante’s pad, unassigned. The peccatulum turned toward her, sensing something different. Something familiar.
And Hyde smiled.
It wasn’t the kind of smile that invited warmth or camaraderie. It was the slow, deliberate curl of lips that knew too much and cared too little. Her fingers rose to her hair, which cascaded down her shoulders in dark, undulating waves—like ink flowing through water. She began to pin strands with a casual elegance, leaving some locks to tumble freely, as if she were preparing for battle not with armor, but with style. Each movement was fluid, almost hypnotic, her fingers weaving through the strands like a spider tending its web.
Dante hadn’t moved. His eyes remained fixed on the frozen panel, the screen still locked on Hyde’s icon, flickering faintly as if unsure whether to obey.
Jekyll’s voice echoed inside Hyde’s mind, sharp and impatient. What are you waiting for? You’re already in control—go and fight them!
No, no, Hyde replied, her grin stretching wider, teeth catching the purple light. I want to use an ID. The one we gave him.
The elevator trembled slightly as the battle outside intensified. Screams, gunfire, and the guttural shrieks of peccatulum filled the corridor beyond. Hyde remained still, untouched by urgency. Her gaze slid toward Dante, who finally turned, noticing she hadn’t joined the fray.
Between the chaos, his voice reached her, tentative and polite. “Ah, thank you for standing with me, Ms. Jekyll.”
Hyde’s head snapped toward him with a suddenness that made the air feel colder. She tilted her chin just enough for her hair to fall back, revealing the full intensity of her expression. That smile—too wide, too still—spread across her face like a mask. It was uncanny, and it always made Dante shiver.
Her eyes gleamed with something unreadable. Do these morons never learn? she thought, her voice a hiss in the back of her own mind.
Dante flinched. “Oh! My apologies… wrong one. Thank you, Ms. Hyde!”
Hyde’s smile softened into something more dangerous. “That’s more like it.” She crossed her arms, the motion slow and deliberate, and turned her attention to the battlefield. Her comrades were locked in combat—Mark barreling through with brute force, Mallo slicing with precision, Boy firing in bursts while scribbling notes mid-dodge, Lenore weaving through the fray like a dancer with a blade. The peccatulum were relentless, their distorted forms lunging and twisting, but the team held their ground.
Hyde watched it all with a detached curiosity, like a queen observing a chessboard mid-game. Her gaze didn’t flinch as Mark was knocked back, nor as Mallo drove her blade through a peccatulum’s throat with surgical precision. The chaos beyond the elevator was a symphony of violence, and Hyde was content to listen to its overture from the wings.
“No need to thank me,” she said, voice low and smooth, each word deliberate. “I only stand here to remind you of what I said before. You seem to have forgotten.” Her eyes remained fixed on the battlefield, but her words were aimed like daggers at Dante’s spine. “You know what ID I want to use next. The current team has no synergy. It should not be a problem.”
The panel flickered again, as if responding to her will. Somewhere deep in the system, something began to shift—lines of code bending, permissions unlocking, a quiet surrender to her presence.
Dante’s fingers trembled as he tapped the panel, almost praying it would work this time. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, voice tight with relief as Hyde’s page finally loaded. “You wanted to use… your Middle ID, yeah?”
Hyde tilted her head, considering. I suppose that one would suffice, she mused, her voice echoing inside her own mind. And we can use the maestro one for later. She nodded slowly, the gesture almost regal. It would be beautiful to see Mallo’s reaction to it.
The thought of Mallo’s pain stirred something warm and electric in her chest, but her face remained composed, untouched by the thrill. Her smile didn’t widen. Her eyes didn’t gleam. She was a mask of calm, even as joy curled like smoke inside her.
I don’t want either of those IDs, Jekyll whispered, clutching her own shoulders in the dark corner of their shared mind. I can’t be here for them. I want some say in things.
Hyde’s grin twitched, barely perceptible. Just let me take care of the combat, she muttered under her breath, lips barely moving. You’ll be back for the important stuff.
“I’ll have it out and ready to use once you get out of the elevator then,” Dante said, selecting the ID with a final tap. He glanced up at Hyde, uncertain whether to expect thanks or a threat.
Hyde turned toward him and nodded slowly. “Thanks, I suppose.” The words felt foreign in her mouth, like borrowed language from someone she used to be. Gratitude didn’t suit her—it hung awkwardly in the air, like a coat worn inside out.
She stretched out her knuckles, the joints cracking like distant thunder. The Middle ID crept over her like a second skin, cold and heavy. Chains began to form around her arms, spectral and metallic, binding her with purpose. Her brush dissolved into smoke, replaced by the infamous book of vengeance—its pages blank, waiting to be filled with names.
“This will be fun,” she said, voice thick with anticipation.
“Heck yeah! Go out there and kick some peccatulum behind!” Dante clapped, eyes gleaming at the sound of violence. Outside, Boy staggered under the weight of a blow, and Mallo drove her blade through another peccatulum’s chest, her face unreadable.
Hyde stepped forward, the elevator’s threshold humming beneath her boots like a warning. The chains around her arms rattled softly, spectral and metallic, and the book of vengeance pulsed in her grip like a heartbeat waiting to be weaponized. She turned back toward Dante, one brow lifting in faint surprise at the way he watched her—not with fear, but with something close to admiration. Huh, she thought, lips twitching. Guess he isn’t so bad. He seems rather happy about this.
Behind her, Jekyll’s voice faded into the walls, swallowed by the ID’s grip. The elevator sealed shut behind her with a hiss, and Hyde stepped fully into the corridor just as Mark drove his fist through the last peccatulum’s skull. The creature crumpled like wet paper.
“These guys are easy,” Mark said, brushing gore from his knuckles. “We beat them up, move to the next room, that’s all. Rinse and repeat.”
Boy nodded, still catching his breath. “Yeah, okay. That’s… simple enough.”
But Mallo wasn’t convinced. Her voice came sharp and fast, like a blade thrown across the room. “Why are they on the first floor? They were on the final floor last time. We cleared that. We cleared it!”
Mark shrugged, already bored. “Demon syndicates were there last time. Probably stirred them up.”
Dante, still fiddling with his pad, added without looking up, “Golden Bough was active too. Could’ve summoned them. That kind of resonance pulls these things in.”
Mallo’s eyes narrowed. “But why here? Why now? Why are they here?”
Boy, crouched beside a twitching corpse, blinked up at her. “Uh… bad luck?”
Mark snorted. “Middle couldn’t get to them. That’s all.”
Jatayu, adjusting his coat with a sigh, offered, “Surely they aren’t cowards. Maybe they just haven’t gotten here yet. Or they’re waiting. Or they’re watching. Or they’re just slow.”
Mallo’s gaze snapped to Mark, and her eyes flared with something between fury and betrayal. Her stare landed squarely on the Middle ID glowing faintly on his chest. Her lips curled in disgust.
Then her eyes slid to Hyde, who wore the same ID. But Hyde wore it differently. Where Mark’s was a label, Hyde’s was a crown. The chains shimmered. The book pulsed. Mallo’s expression faltered—just for a moment. Not fear, not quite, but to something wary. Something that knew better than to provoke.
Mark, of course, remained unbothered. He rolled his shoulders and looked around, as if waiting for the next round.
Mallo exhaled sharply, trying to regain control. “Which way do we go now?”
Mark raised an eyebrow, already fishing something from his pocket. “Flip a coin?”
“Yayyyyy!” Boy and Lenore chorused, their voices overlapping in chaotic glee with a tinge of sarcasm.
Mallo’s hands flew up. “We are not flipping a coin! We should be using logic! Strategy! We’re not children!”
Lenore tilted her head, her feathered badge catching the dim light. “Maybe randomness is logical. If we’re being watched, wouldn’t unpredictability be safer?”
Mallo blinked. “It’s probably just a hallway. If I had to guess. Facilities like this—they’re built differently. Symmetrical. Mirrored. It’s probably the same either way.”
Boy squinted down both corridors, then turned back. “So… we're blind? Can we just flip a coin?”
Lenore tapped her chin. “Pretty sure each path is equally likely to be a trap.”
Mark grinned. “Aight. I got a coin from a demon syndicate guy. He said it was lucky.” He held up a tarnished, jagged-edged token that looked like something had bitten it with too many teeth. He flipped it.
“Wait—wait! Which way is heads and which is tails? You can’t just flip it without saying!” Boy flailed his arms.
Mark caught the coin mid-air with a practiced hand. “The hall in front of us is heads. Right of us is tails.”
“That depends entirely on where we’re standing,” Jatayu muttered, rubbing his temples. “Orientation is relative. If we’re facing north, then—”
A brief, chaotic debate ensued. Fingers pointed. Directions were redefined. At one point, Boy tried to draw a map on the wall with his trusted pen before Lenore gently took the makeshift crayon from his hand. Eventually, they agreed: tails meant right.
Mark flipped again. The coin clattered to the floor, spun wildly, and landed with a dull clink—tails.
“Right it is,” Mark said, already moving.
They turned the corner and were immediately greeted by another cluster of peccatulum, their forms writhing in the shadows like a corrupted choir waiting to sing.
Boy’s eyes widened. “Do we… do we normally fight this early? Like, this soon after the last batch?”
Dante didn’t even look up from his pad. “This is a small amount. We usually face these little ones in the dozens. Sometimes more.”
Boy blinked, then nodded slowly, as if trying to convince himself. “Oh. Well. This is nice then.” He raised his gun with a shaky hand.
Hyde lingered at the edge of the corridor, her boots planted just beyond the hallway’s threshold, the hum beneath her feet fading into the distant thrum of combat. She didn’t move. Not yet. The chains around her arms hung loose, swaying with each breath, and the book of vengeance pulsed faintly in her grip, as if sensing the bloodshed ahead.
Mark surged forward in his Middle ID, intercepting a blow meant for Mallo with a grunt and a flash of steel. The gloom and gluttony peccatulum shrieked, their distorted forms lunging and twisting, but they were no match for the coordinated brutality of the team. The floor was slick with ichor within moments, the creatures falling one by one like puppets with severed strings.
Hyde watched it all with clinical detachment, her eyes narrowing as she studied the way each member moved. Their attacks were efficient, but their habits clashed with the identities they wore. Mallo’s precision faltered under the weight of borrowed aggression. Mark’s brute force was amplified, but lacked his usual restraint. Even Boy’s enthusiasm seemed warped, his Thumb ID pushing him toward recklessness. It was fascinating—how the IDs reshaped them, how they resisted or surrendered.
Her gaze drifted from the battlefield to Dante, who stood just a few feet away, half-hidden in the shadows of the doorway. He wasn’t watching the fight. Not really. His clock was unfocused, staring through the carnage as if trying to see something beyond it. One hand was clenched tightly against his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. His posture was uneven, shoulders hunched, weight shifting from foot to foot like he couldn’t decide whether to run or collapse.
Hyde frowned. She stepped forward and slugged him in the shoulder—firm, deliberate, calibrated to bruise but not break.
Dante stumbled back with a startled yelp. “Huh! Hyde! Ow… What was that for?”
Hyde tilted her head, suppressing a snort. So he would be really easy to kill, she smirked, amused by the thought. “You even fall like a stick,” she said aloud, voice dry. “Get your head in the game. Daydreaming is important for creativity, but not when it could be your last. Focus.”
Dante blinked at her, eyes wide, as if she’d just stepped out of a nightmare and offered him a cup of tea. He stared for a moment too long, trying to process her words, trying to reconcile the violence with the advice.
“I don’t recall you being the motivational type,” he said finally, rubbing his shoulder. “You’re right. Thanks, Hyde.”
Hyde didn’t respond. She turned back toward the battlefield, her chains rattling softly, the book pulsing once more.
She was watching.
And she was waiting.
Hyde’s gaze slid sideways, her expression unreadable as she watched Jatayu retreat from the fray. His coat flared behind him as he backpedaled, boots skidding slightly on the blood-slick floor. More peccatulum were pouring in, their grotesque silhouettes writhing in the violet light like shadows made flesh. The air was thick with the stench of ozone and rot, and the walls pulsed faintly, as if the facility itself were breathing.
“Cold feet, veteran?” Hyde’s voice cut through the chaos like a scalpel—precise, cool, and just sharp enough to draw blood.
The veteran paused mid-step, his breath visible in the chill that clung to the corridor. He didn’t turn to face her, but his shoulders stiffened. “My attacks in this ID are ineffective,” he said, voice clipped but not defensive. “In order to help, I need to trade my ID.”
Hyde didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she turned her attention back to the battlefield, where Mallo had just won a brutal clash against one of the newer gloom-type peccatulum. Her blade sang as it carved through the creature’s chest, and the corridor’s hungry acoustics swallowed its shriek. Mallo didn’t celebrate—she never did—but her stance shifted, just slightly, into something more grounded. She was in control. For now.
Hyde’s eyes flicked back to Dante, who was still hovering near the doorway, fingers dancing across his pad. “Isn’t ID choice your job?” she asked, her tone deceptively casual.
The insult was buried beneath the words like a blade beneath silk, but Dante, ever the optimist—or perhaps just distracted—missed it entirely.
“Indeed it is!” he said brightly, tapping the screen with a flourish. “Which is why I have a new one prepared just for the job!”
With a final swipe, Jatayu’s ID shimmered and shifted. The air around him crackled as the G Corp Commander designation took hold, his silhouette sharpening, posture straightening. The moment the transformation settled, he turned on his heel and sprinted back into the fray, coat billowing like a banner behind him.
Boy watched him go, eyes narrowing. “Huh,” he muttered, side-eyeing the new ID. He shuddered as if it recalled a memory for him. “Fancy.”
More peccatulum surged forward, their limbs scraping against the walls, their mouths open in silent screams. The team braced for another wave.
And still, Hyde did not move.
She stood at the edge of it all, her chains quiet, her book closed. The violet light painted her in shades of dusk, and her eyes gleamed with something unreadable. Not fear. Not hesitation. Something colder. Something more deliberate.
If I am to become the Maestro, she thought, I need to compose the energy I possess. Not squander it on every shrieking beast that throws itself at our feet.
There was no glory in killing these things. No music in it. Only noise.
And Hyde had no interest in playing to noise.
The chains around Hyde’s arms dissolved into smoke, the book of vengeance vanishing from her grip like a dream forgotten upon waking. The ID snapped off her like a second skin peeling away, leaving her in her base form—no longer cloaked in Middle designation, no longer bound by its hunger. The corridor’s violet light dimmed slightly around her, as if the system itself recognized the shift.
Jekyll stirred faintly in the back of her mind, a whisper against the silence.
Dante glanced over, catching the change. His eyes widened slightly, and he tilted his head, uncertain. “You okay, Hyde?” he asked, voice cautious. “Usually, you’re really eager to… paint…”
Hyde raised her hand to her mouth, fingers resting lightly against her lips in a pose Dante had seen before—too many times, in too many IDs. It was a gesture that always preceded something unsettling. Her eyes gleamed with a sly, unreadable light.
“These,” she said, voice smooth and low, “are not scum I deem worthy of wasting my time on.” Her smirk deepened. “Who’d be here to guard the manager from such harm? We can’t have you turning into a painting, no, no, that simply won’t do…”
You lure him into a false sense of security, Jekyll murmured, her voice tight with concern.
I won’t kill him until I have to, Hyde replied, calm and unbothered.
Ahead, the battle raged on. Mallo and Mark fought side by side, their movements surprisingly synchronized despite the tension between them—and despite Mark’s Middle ID. Mallo’s strikes were precise, her blade singing through the air, while Mark absorbed blows and retaliated with brute force. It was messy, but it worked.
Jatayu, now fully settled into his G Corp Commander ID, moved like a storm. He demolished two peccatulum in rapid succession, his attacks clean and efficient. There was no hesitation in his movements, no wasted energy. He was a veteran, and it showed.
Dante’s gaze drifted back to Hyde, the flames on his head cracking. Something about her posture—too still, too composed—made his stomach twist. She was trying to look neutral, maybe even helpful, but the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. Just barely.
There was always something behind Hyde’s words. Something sharp. Something that hinted at harm. And now, Dante couldn’t tell if she’d been joking about protecting him—or suggesting she was the threat he needed guarding from.
He shuddered, visibly unnerved. “I think… we should go join the others…” he muttered, voice thin. Without waiting for a reply, he shuffled toward the door, trying not to look back.
The last peccatulum fell with a wet thud.
Mark wiped his hands on his coat and exhaled. “Hope no one distorts,” he said, half-joking.
Mallo laughed—a short, sharp sound—and nudged Mark with her elbow. Mark looked at her strangely in response. They walked forward together, side by side, their steps in rhythm before they each chose a different hallway to go down. Lenore followed Mallo, while Boy and Alex followed Mark. Boy looked visibly unnerved walking beside G Corp Jatayu, despite Jatayu’s sincere compliments toward Boy’s gun and fighting skills.
“The genders have split,” Jatayu observed. “Lenore and Mallo went left, and Mark and Boy went straight. Shall we split up?”
“I don’t really want to be with Hyde right now,” Dante muttered.
His fear was music to the painter’s ears, and she wished to feed off it. Hyde walked up next to the manager, her presence sudden and unsettling. “Why not, manager?”
Dante screamed—loud, sharp, like a train horn. “I… I feel as if we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and it might leave a bad impression on the others if people started thinking you were the favorite…” He was clearly lying through his teeth, nervous and twitching.
“How touching,” Hyde replied, her smile never faltering. I have you right where I want you.
Please, don’t antagonize our boss, Jekyll sighed, rubbing her temple.
“With your permission, I would like to join the boys,” Jatayu said, already stepping forward. “I have nothing against women, but hell hath its hatred against the scorned woman. They scare me.” He walked straight ahead to join the boys without waiting for a response.
Dante slowly turned to Hyde, his voice thin. “I want to stick with Mallo. I don't want anything bad happening… come with?”
Hyde was still smiling. “Sure.”
Dante didn’t fully turn his back toward Hyde as they made their way down the hall and turned left. He was trembling, shoulders tight, while Hyde walked proudly behind him, her steps measured and calm.
They met Mallo and Lenore, who greeted the manager with a nod and stepped forward into the central facility room. Dante entered first, clearly trying to put distance between himself and Hyde. In the center of the room stood a massive console, its surface flickering with data and containment logs.
The central facility room was colder than the corridors that led to it, as if the air itself had been conditioned to preserve something fragile—or dangerous. The walls were lined with dark, matte panels that hummed faintly, and the lighting overhead was dim but deliberate, casting long shadows across the floor. In the center stood a massive console, shaped like a hexagonal altar, its surface alive with flickering data streams, containment logs, and encrypted readouts. The glow from the screen painted the room in shades of blue and green, like the inside of a submerged vault.
“What are we looking for?” Mallo asked, already scanning the interface.
Dante hovered near the console, fingers twitching as he tried to make sense of the interface. He glanced at Mallo, who was already scanning the data with sharp focus. “You’re the one good at machines,” he said, voice tight with expectation.
Mallo didn’t look up. “You’re the one who rushed in here first,” she replied coolly, her eyes darting across the screen.
Lenore stepped closer, her feathered badge catching the console’s glow. “Is there a map?” she asked, her voice soft but urgent.
Mallo turned slightly, her brow furrowed. “Not exactly. No map, but there are notes—logs about abnormalities stored in the facility.” Her finger traced the screen as she read. “It says each hallway ends in a storage room. This one contains a chained beast… this one has a human energy cell… and this one…” She squinted, leaning in. “Something called ‘Blank.’ That’s odd. I’ve never seen that designation before.”
Lenore’s face went pale. Her expression tightened, eyes distant, as if pulled into a memory she hadn’t consented to revisit. “I hope it’s not ‘Nothing There,’” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Dante blinked. “What’s a ‘Nothing There’?”
Mallo looked up, confused. “A nothing what?”
Lenore swallowed hard. “It’s an abnormality. One that the ID I’m currently using is familiar with. It’s… very bad.”
Hyde, standing just behind them, tilted her head. She couldn’t see the console from where she stood, but she listened intently.
“Dangerous, I assume,” Lenore continued. “The logs mention two objects in one hallway, and one in another. But I can’t see the specifics.”
Dante’s voice wavered. “They’re contained, right? We don’t have to face them, do we?”
Mallo’s eyes narrowed. “I thought facing them was part of the job.”
“They’re pre-contained,” Dante offered, trying to sound confident.
“For how long?” Mallo asked, her tone sharp. “Are they contained because the system works, or because they don’t feel like leaving? How long until they do want to leave?”
Lenore stepped forward, her voice steadier now. “LCA wants their eggs, but abnormalities in their containment units work too. We just need to verify stability.”
Mallo straightened. “Then let’s go look.”
Lenore nodded, but added, “We should regroup with the others before engaging any of them.”
“Agreed,” Dante said quickly.
Mallo glanced toward a side corridor. “Maybe we can cut through here.”
Dante followed her gaze. “The hallways connect. That should work.”
The room buzzed with the low, constant hum of overhead lights and aging terminals. The air smelled faintly of dust and ozone, like a place that had been powered but forgotten. Desks were scattered across the space, some overturned, others buried under heaps of torn files and shattered monitors. It looked like someone—or something—had searched through the room in a frenzy, but not recently. The damage was old, the scratches faded, the chaos settled into a kind of uneasy stillness.
Hyde stood near the doorway, her eyes scanning the wreckage. It was hard to tell if anything of value remained. The mess was too deliberate to be random, but too chaotic to be useful. She tilted her head slightly, watching Lenore approach the central terminal.
Lenore’s fingers danced across the interface, her feathered badge flickering faintly in the dim light. “Strange,” she murmured. “This branch has no information on the Golden Bough. Or at least, not this floor. There are three floors total, so there might be something deeper in. If Ornella’s branch is anything to go by, it could be inside a containment chamber.”
“No harm in checking,” Mallo replied, her voice steady.
Lenore didn’t look up. “If we need to suppress anyway, Dante, it’s your call. But suppressing them regardless won’t change much. We’ve done it before. It’s tedious, but manageable.”
Dante rubbed his temple, gaze flicking between the terminal and the hallway beyond. “Hmm… It would make sense to see what we can do to suppress them for LCCA. But it would also be foolish to charge into their home without the full party. We’d be walking into their den with half a plan and no backup.”
“One of our gun users isn’t even with us at the moment,” Lenore added, her face expressionless despite the faint scorch marks still glowing across her cheek.
“You look… toasty,” Dante said, trying for levity.
Lenore blinked slowly. “Flames don’t scar too badly in this ID. We should regroup with the others. I suggest we head in the direction they might’ve gone.”
Mallo nodded and turned toward the right, following the path the boys had taken—but through a different hallway. The others followed in silence, their footsteps echoing against the cold tile. The rooms they passed were dark, their doors slightly ajar, but no light spilled out. It was as if the facility itself was holding its breath.
Lenore didn’t hesitate. She walked straight into the next room at the end of the hall, her badge casting a faint glow ahead of her. Inside, she saw them—peccatulum, clustered and twitching in the shadows. To the left, more movement. To the right, at the far end of the hall, the boys stood waiting.
Mallo stepped in after her, eyes widening slightly at the sight.
“Hi guys,” Boy called out, waving with one hand while the other gripped his weapon.
“I see our comrades up ahead,” Jatayu said, his voice calm, his stance already shifting into readiness.
Hyde’s gaze drifted toward the left room, her eyes narrowing. Dante, meanwhile, turned toward the right, lifting his PDA and using its screen as a makeshift flashlight. The beam cut through the dark, illuminating a heavy door and the faint outline of chains beyond it.
“That one might be the chained beast,” Dante said, voice low. He took a step back. “I… don’t want to go in there.”
The air grew heavier, thick with static and the scent of something ancient. Hyde’s gaze drifted toward the left room, drawn by a pulse she couldn’t name. It wasn’t curiosity—it was hunger. A threat to demolish. A challenge to meet. Something worthy of her time.
Without a word, she slipped away from the group, her steps silent, her presence unnoticed. The door creaked open just enough to let her slide through, and then it shut behind her with a soft click. She made sure Dante didn’t see her vanish, didn’t catch the flicker of her coat or the glint in her eye.
Inside, the room was pitch black. Not just dim—obliterated of light. The walls swallowed sound, and the air was colder here, like the breath of something buried. Hyde couldn’t hear or see anything at first, but then—
A low, distant horn.
It wasn’t loud, not to the others. But inside Hyde’s head, it roared like a train barreling through a tunnel. Jekyll gasped, recoiling. No. No, not this. Not again.
Scraping metal echoed from the far end of the room, dragging across the floor in slow, deliberate strokes. Hyde looked up, eyes adjusting to the dark.
She saw them.
Four figures, barely visible in the gloom. Their outlines shimmered with a sickly green hue, the unmistakable signal of a Green Ordeal. And they weren’t alone. Another presence loomed behind them—larger, heavier, wrong. All of them were TETH level. All of them were watching.
Hyde twirled her brush between her fingers, the motion fluid, almost playful. Then she reached back and pulled the door behind her tightly, sealing herself in. No cracks. No witnesses.
“Aight,” she whispered, grin spreading. “Let’s fight these motherf—”
The transformation hit like a wave.
Her body shifted, the brush in her hand warping into a jagged, ink-stained baton. Chains slithered up her arms, binding her wrists in ceremonial iron. Her coat darkened, stitched with symbols of Middle allegiance—Her boots clicked against the floor with a sharper edge, and her eyes gleamed with a violet sheen. The Hawaiian shirt laced her shoulders and fell to her sides.
The Middle Hyde ID was not just a look—it was a persona. A sanctioned executioner. A walking contradiction: elegance and brutality, artistry and annihilation.
Jekyll vanished, her voice swallowed by the ID’s grip.
Hyde admired her new form, flexing her fingers as the chains and tattoos pulsed with latent energy. She liked this look. It suited her.
But against these robots, it wouldn’t be enough. She would have to hit them with something harder.
Like an EGO.
The door sealed behind Hyde with a soft click, swallowing the corridor’s light and leaving her in a room of pure shadow. The air was thick, metallic, and cold—like breathing through rusted wire. The four Green Ordeal units stood in formation, their frames twitching with unnatural precision. They weren’t just machines. They were rituals in motion. Each one pulsed with a sickly green glow, their limbs jagged, their movements too smooth to be mechanical.
Hyde didn’t hesitate.
She reached inward, into the marrow of her identity, and let the corrosion take hold.
The Stunted Mimicry EGO surged through her body like wildfire. Her skin split and reformed, red claws bursting from her fingertips, jagged and wet like freshly torn metal. Her jaw elongated, reshaping into a maw of blood and teeth—an echo of something primal, something that had never been human. Her coat darkened into a slick, crimson sheen, and her eyes gleamed with a feral hunger.
The second robot didn’t even react in time.
Hyde lunged, her claws carving through its chest with a sound like tearing silk. The jaws snapped once—twice—and the machine crumpled, its green glow extinguished in a burst of static. It didn’t scream. It simply ceased.
But Hyde wasn’t done.
The red faded, and a new presence overtook her—a cold, blue shimmer that crawled up her spine like frostbite. The Faint Aroma EGO enveloped her, wrapping her limbs in translucent mist. Her breath became visible, each exhale stealing warmth from the room. Her veins pulsed with a pale glow, and her eyes turned glassy, distant, like someone halfway submerged in ice water.
The first robot—already doomed—shuddered once and collapsed. No impact. No final blow. Just death. Quiet and complete.
Hyde staggered, her body flickering between forms, barely holding together. The third robot lunged, and she countered, claws meeting steel in a burst of sparks. But the third and fourth struck her from both sides, their blows landing hard—one to the ribs, the other to her shoulder. She reeled, blood splattering across the floor in a wide arc.
She dropped to one knee, panting, her vision swimming.
The robots paused. They didn’t advance. They didn’t retreat. They simply stood there, awkwardly, as if waiting for protocol to catch up with reality.
Hyde coughed, wiped blood from her mouth, and pushed herself upright. Her legs trembled, but her grin returned—wide, crooked, and full of malice.
The fourth robot twitched, then charged.
Hyde met it head-on. She clashed, her fists banging against its arm, and this time she won. With a roar, she drove her fist into its face, sending it flying across the room. It crashed into the wall with a crunch, limbs splayed like a broken marionette.
She reached into her coat and pulled out a half-crushed bottle of vodka from a previous mission. The label was torn, the glass chipped, but it was still sealed. She popped the cap and chugged it, the burn slicing down her throat like fire. Her wounds didn’t close, but the pain dulled, just enough to keep her standing.
The fourth robot—still guarding—twitched again. The third, somehow still functional, limped forward for another strike.
Hyde didn’t wait. She surged forward, fists glowing with residual frost and blood, and struck both in a single motion—one upward slash, one downward crush. The room lit up with green sparks as both machines collapsed, their cores ruptured, their limbs twitching in final spasms.
Hyde stood in the center of the wreckage, blood dripping from her chin in slow, deliberate rivulets. Her coat was torn at the shoulder, one sleeve shredded, the fabric soaked in a mix of her own blood and the green fluid that had once powered the ordeal units. Her breath came in ragged bursts, each inhale scraping against bruised ribs. She had almost died. The hits had been brutal, relentless. But somehow—through grit, corrosion, and sheer spite—she made it out alive.
Ugh, she thought, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. That shouldn’t have been that difficult. If I was at full power, I’d have—
The door burst open.
Light spilled into the room, casting long shadows across the carnage. The rest of the party flooded in, weapons drawn, eyes wide. Mallo was first, blade already half-raised. Mark followed, fists clenched. Lenore’s badge glowed faintly, scanning for threats. Jatayu stepped in with practiced calm, while Boy stumbled in behind them, eyes darting across the wreckage.
Dante was last, breathless and worried, panic etched into every line of his flames.
Hyde didn’t turn. She just smiled.
Mallo’s voice rang out, sharp and accusatory. “What were you doing?”
Hyde tilted her head slightly, her grin widening. “What does it look like?”
Mark snorted. “Getting beat up.”
Hyde finally turned, her eyes gleaming. “There were four of them,” she said, gesturing to the twisted remains scattered across the room. “I beat them all to rubble.”
Mallo’s gaze flicked to the Middle ID still clinging to Hyde’s form. Her eyes narrowed, and without a word, she turned and walked away, her coat flaring behind her.
Dante stepped forward, voice cracking. “Hyde, that was dangerous! You could’ve died!”
Hyde shrugged, the motion stiff but defiant. “I’m alive, aren’t I?” She smirked, blood still drying on her teeth. “I used only one skill the whole time, too.”
Mark crossed his arms, eyeing the wreckage. “Barely.”
The room was silent for a moment, save for the soft hum of the dying terminals and the faint buzz of Hyde’s lingering EGO. The others lowered their weapons, tension slowly bleeding out of their stances.
Hyde stood tall in the center of the wreckage, her silhouette framed by the flickering remains of the ordeal units. The chains around her arms rattled softly, their weight a reminder of the power she had wielded—and the toll it had taken. Blood still dripped from her chin, slow and deliberate, tracing the torn edges of her coat. Her breath came in shallow bursts, each inhale scraping against bruised ribs. She was battered. She was bleeding.
But she was proud.
She ignored whatever Mark muttered next, tuning out the noise of the others as she pulled out her book of vengeance. The pages were stained, warped from previous battles, but still legible. She crossed out the names of the four robots with precise, deliberate strokes, each mark a small act of closure.
Then, without hesitation, she wrote Mallo’s name.
Not for justice.
Not for duty.
But out of spite. Out of the slow-burning hatred that had built up over time—through glances, through dismissals, through every moment Mallo had looked at her like she was a threat instead of a teammate.
Mark my words, Mallo. I will be your demise. That is a vow on my life.
The ID broke off with a hiss, the chains dissolving into smoke, the book dimming in her hands. Her body sagged slightly, the adrenaline fading, leaving behind exhaustion and ache.
From the hallway, Mallo’s voice drifted in, sharp and cold. “Jekyll was carrying.”
Hyde’s eyes narrowed.
Mark’s voice followed, casual and dismissive. “We would’ve been fine without Jekyll.”
Hyde adjusted her paintbrush and turned to Dante, motioning silently. She wanted to be rewound. Her body was screaming for it, and she didn’t want to show weakness by asking aloud.
Dante hesitated, his fingers hovering over the pad. “I hope you think long about this, Hyde,” he said quietly.
Hyde tilted her head, her smile returning, crooked and bloodstained. “Why? They’re the ones that died.”
Mark scoffed, overhearing the conversation. “You barely didn’t. You look like you got hell beaten out of you.”
Lenore stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “We’re not idiots who barge into rooms without knowing what’s on the other side.”
Hyde’s smile didn’t fade, but her eyes sharpened. Right, she thought, because you’re not powerful enough to take them on like I can. I don’t see the rest of you pulling feats like I can. She didn’t say it aloud. But the silence that followed was heavy with implication.
The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the dying terminals and the distant echo of footsteps in the hall. Hyde stood in the center of it all—wounded, defiant, and utterly alone in her triumph.
The rewound worked. Jekyll returned to the front, her breath shallow, her body still echoing with the pain Hyde had endured. Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced her brush across the floor, trying to ground herself in the present while Hyde’s memories surged behind her eyes.
Wow, Hyde, I’m impressed you did that, Jekyll began. But can we not get so close to death next time?
We were fine, Hyde wiped her face with malice. The team is overexaggerating.
In the hallway, Mallo’s voice cut through the quiet. “Why would those robots be in there? That room looked abandoned.”
Mark shrugged, glancing back toward the wreckage. “Maybe someone put them there deliberately.”
Lenore stepped forward, her tone clinical. “It’s possible they were shoved in during an escape attempt. If that had been an abnormality instead of robots, Hyde probably would’ve died.”
Mark scoffed. “If it had been an abnormality, I would’ve taken care of it.”
Oh please, Hyde muttered from the back of Jekyll’s mind, her voice dry and venomous. Your ego would’ve killed you before the abnormality even got the chance.
“You weren’t there,” Lenore said sharply, not bothering to look at him.
Mallo turned to Mark, unimpressed. “There were only four robots in there, right?”
Jekyll nodded slowly, still catching up to the moment.
“But why?” Mallo continued. “The computer only listed one. Why were there more?”
Jekyll began to zone out as Mark started speculating again. She tried to focus, tried to stay present, but Hyde’s voice was louder, recounting every clash, every blow, every moment of near-death triumph. Jekyll traced her brush in slow circles across the ground, not paying attention to the conversation around her.
Whenever they pull of feats, they get praise, Jekyll gripped her paintbrush. But all we get is ridicule for our achievements.
Feats are not won by simply standing around and not taking risks, Hyde added.
Why? Why do they get praise? It’s not fair, Jekyll could feel anger burning in her chest. I… we… deserve recognition.
Yes, yes we do, Hyde’s tone was slurred and deceptive. So you’re beginning to understand why we needed to get to the top of everything we were a part of.
No, that’s different, I just wanted to paint because…
Life became better once people respected us, no?
Jekyll didn’t reply. She knew Hyde was right. She knew she agreed with the painter. The critical words of the party stung like a bee. It would be a wound she would not forget.
Then Dante spoke, breaking through the haze. “The robots are formed by the Golden Boughs—manifestations of doubt. Are we saying that Mallo the Boastful has doubts?”
Mallo laughed, tossing her hair as she walked away. “Please. I’d never have doubts.”
Jatayu stepped in, his voice calm and measured. “We did well overall, but I think we could improve our strategy.”
Mark crossed his arms. “Half the time, we’re just taking hits for you.”
Jatayu frowned. “It’s unfortunate. I couldn’t protect anyone during that fight. No one was defending. I’m supposed to boost defenses in this ID, but I wasn’t able to contribute. I’d like to go first more often.”
Mark shook his head. “When I go first, I deal better damage. I’ll stay first. The strongest should lead.”
“I’m strong,” Jatayu replied. “And I have leadership experience.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “You do know your wing fell, right?”
Jatayu’s expression darkened. “What happened to G Corp?”
“You lost the war,” Mark said simply.
A sharp crack echoed through the room as Jatayu’s ID shattered like glass. He staggered slightly, returning to his base form with a grimace. “That was… an experience.”
Mark glanced around. “Hyde almost got herself killed. Mallo’s in her usual pissed-off mood.”
Jatayu turned to Alex. “Anything to report?”
Alex turned slowly and shrugged.
“What’s this about Hyde almost dying?” Jatayu asked, his voice low.
Jekyll stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm, as if she tried to stand up for herself. “Hyde defeated four robotic green ordeals. And she lived through it.”
Jatayu nodded. “I’m glad she survived. But she might want to be more careful next time.”
Seriously, you too? Jekyll couldn’t bring herself to keep Jatayu out of the rage boiling within her.
Mark scoffed. “She ran off. She could’ve died.”
“But she didn’t,” Jekyll replied, trying to keep her tone cool despite her emotion. “And I didn’t have much say in the matter anyway.”
“She was barely alive,” Mark muttered. “One cough and she would’ve imploded.”
“We did find Hyde pretty badly injured,” Dante added, rubbing the back of his neck. He defended the other’s accusations quickly.
Jekyll’s eyes narrowed. “Well, she lived, only using one skill for the entire fight against four attackers. I don’t think any of you could’ve pulled that off.”
But the party was not listening. The others turned toward Alex, shifting focus. They began lecturing him on the first EGO he’d found, explaining its properties, how to activate it, how to survive it.
Jekyll stood quietly, her brush still tracing the floor. Bastards. They don’t understand. We… you did great, Hyde. You wouldn’t have taken that risk if you didn’t know Dante could bring you back, right?
Why is it their problem? Hyde whispered. They shouldn’t care if I live or die. We have infinite lives, now. Of course if I was on one life I’d be more strategic, but even if so, we would have survived. These idiots clearly don’t get it.
Jekyll couldn’t agree with Hyde more. Dante will bring us back anyway. There are no consequences to our actions.