[ < FLASHBACK > 20st May 2082 (five years earlier) / Mega Ark-City 01 / Late Afternoon ]
The MBC Mobile hummed steadily down the highway, neon signs and streetlights streaking past like long, blurred ribbons. Inside, the air was thick with tension. Emmy's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale, jaw set as a faint stress etched her features. Beside her, twelve-year-old Sophie sat rigid, worry written in every crease of her young face. And behind them, ten-year-old Niero slumped against the seat, blood streaking his cheek, knuckles bruised, eyes burning with barely contained fury.
Emmy glanced at Sophie, her voice calm but firm, cutting through the charged silence.
"Tell me your side. I don't buy what the principal's story."
Sophie hesitated, swallowing hard, then spoke quietly, voice quivering despite her attempt at composure.
"It… it was that spoiled rich boy, Richard. He convinced… some of the girls at school to—" Her words caught in her throat, shame coating every syllable. "—to bully me. They wouldn't stop, Mom. I didn't know what to do…"
Niero's small fists clenched at his sides, blood from earlier skirmishes drying on his skin, his anger still raw and vivid. He remembered it all like it had happened seconds ago—the moment he'd been running an errand, carrying Sophie's forgotten lunchbox, only to see her cornered by Richard and his fawning clique. Every laugh, every shove, every cruel word had ignited something feral inside him. Without hesitation, he had leapt forward, teeth gritted, fists flying. When he was done, Richard had been left bloodied, bruised, and begging for mercy, while the girls who once adored him looked on, frozen in terror. Niero had been ready to fight anyone who dared interfere, even the school staff dragging him away.
Sophie's eyes filled with tears, shame gnawing at her. She whispered, almost to herself,
"It's… it's my fault. I should have protected him. I'm the big sister… I'm supposed to protect my little brother."
Niero, pride flashing in his young, fiery gaze, opened his mouth to argue, eager to recount his triumph, to declare how unstoppable he had been, but Emmy's calm, firm voice cut through the tension.
"Niero."
The single word carried the weight of authority, of love, of silent understanding. It was enough. The boy's anger and pride simmered down, replaced with a tentative silence.
The rest of the drive was quiet, the hum of the tires against asphalt filling the gaps where words had been.
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The MBC Mobile rolled to a gentle stop in front of the familiar façade of the Maison Bella Café, its warm lights glowing against the night of Sector 13-05. The neon signage flickered softly, a silent welcome home after a day that had gone far too wrong.
Emmy shut off the engine but didn't move right away. The ticking of cooling metal filled the air.
"Sophie," she said at last, her voice steady, controlled. "Go inside and… prepare something in the café."
Sophie hesitated, casting a worried glance toward the back seat—toward Niero—before nodding. She opened the door and slipped out, the bell above the café entrance chiming softly as she disappeared inside.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
Silence settled between mother and son, heavy and suffocating.
Niero stared at the floor of the van, fists clenched, blood crusted along his knuckles. His chest rose and fell sharply, anger still simmering beneath the bruises. The seconds stretched, each one dragging like an eternity.
Finally, Emmy spoke.
"Do you understand what you did today?"
Her voice wasn't angry. That somehow made it worse.
Niero snapped his head up. "I wasn't just gonna stand there and watch them hurt Sophie!" His words spilled out raw and unfiltered. "They surrounded her, Mom. They were laughing. She looked scared. What was I supposed to do—ask them nicely to stop?!"
Emmy turned in her seat to face him fully. Her eyes were tired… but sharp.
"I know," she said quietly. "And that's why part of me is proud of you."
Niero froze.
"But," she continued, her tone firming, "pride doesn't erase consequences."
He frowned, frustration tightening his chest. "So, I should've just let it happen?"
"No," Emmy replied immediately. "You should never let cruelty stand. But violence—unchecked violence—has a way of growing bigger than the reason it started."
Niero looked away, jaw clenched. "I hate just watching. I hate feeling useless."
Emmy softened. She reached out, gently brushing a smear of dried blood from his cheek with her thumb. "Strength isn't just about hitting harder, Niero. It's knowing when to fight… and when to find another way."
Her voice lowered, almost a whisper. "The world outside our walls already runs on brutality. I don't want that to be the only language you learn."
The van fell quiet again.
Niero didn't answer—but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed. If anything, it burned more fiercely now, tangled with confusion, pride, and the first stirrings of something deeper.
That night, the Maison Bella Café stood as it always had—warm, safe, unassuming.
But inside Niero's heart, a question had taken root—one that would shape the path he'd one day choose.
Before Niero could open the door, Emmy spoke again.
"Niero."
He paused, hand frozen on the handle.
"You're grounded for tonight," she said calmly. "What you did scared the other students—especially Sophie's peers. Violence leaves ripples, whether we intend it or not."
Niero lowered his head, lips pressed tight. "…I understand."
Emmy exhaled softly, then continued, her voice gentler now. "But don't misunderstand me. Your heart was in the right place. You acted to protect your sister—and because of that, Richard will never lay a finger on her again."
Niero glanced up. "Is he… okay?"
"He's unconscious," Emmy replied. "Very bruised. Very humiliated. I think he swallowed some teeth. But alive." A pause. "Though I'll be paying restitution for your actions before his family tries to sue us."
That earned a faint wince from Niero. "Sorry…"
She waved it off with a tired smile. Then, lowering her voice, she added—half serious, half dangerously casual—
"Plus. If you ever feel the urge to beat up bullies again… do it somewhere secluded. Fewer witnesses."
Niero blinked. "…Got it."
"Go," she said, nodding toward the café. "Straight to your room, mister."
He opened the door and stepped out into the familiar glow of the Maison Bella Café, the warmth of home wrapping around him even as punishment loomed. Without another word, he headed inside—shoulders tense, heart still pounding, grounded for the night.
Emmy remained in the driver's seat, watching the café door close behind him.
For a moment, her expression stayed unreadable.
Then—just barely—a small smile curved her lips.
Violent, reckless, stubborn…
But when it mattered most, her son had chosen to protect his family.
And that, more than anything, made her proud.
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The chaos of his bedroom mirrored the turmoil inside Niero's head. His gaming PC blazed with fire and fury as he tore through wave after wave of monstrous enemies, a fast-paced boomer shooter that had taken Ark.Net by storm. He gripped the controller tightly, chugging MaxEdge energy drink to keep his reflexes razor-sharp, letting the virtual carnage—the roaring guns, fiery explosions, and shredding metal soundtrack—wash away the tension from earlier. Every monstrous screech and pixelated spray of gore became an outlet for the anger that still throbbed in his chest, the frustration of being told he couldn't just act on instinct to protect Sophie.
Even as he played, his mind couldn't help but wander back to Richard. How much harder could he have hit the spoiled boy? How much more satisfying would it have felt to truly make him regret the fear he had sown? The thought made his fingers twitch, but a quiet weight of restraint pressed against the urge, reminding him of Mom's words.
A soft, hesitant knock pulled him from the screen, the digital chaos freezing in mid-explosion. Niero paused the game, removed his headphones, and exhaled, his chest heavy with lingering adrenaline. "Come in," he called, trying to sound casual.
Sophie slipped inside, holding a plate of Mac n' Cheese sprinkled with bacon bits—Aunt Alura's attempt at making dinner for the family. She lingered in the doorway, her small shoulders tight with unease, her gaze avoiding his.
"You… don't have to worry about me," Niero said first, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm fine. It's not your fault."
But Sophie shook her head, a tremor in her voice betraying her composure. "No… it's my fault," she admitted quietly, setting the plate down on his cluttered desk. "I… I should've handled it. I dragged you into it, and you… you shouldn't have had to do that. I feel… so bad… and ashamed."
Niero's fingers clenched around the edge of the desk for a moment, the weight of her guilt sinking in. Despite everything, he saw the sincerity in her eyes, the regret that weighed on her like a tangible thing. He exhaled slowly, letting a soft chuckle escape, trying to ease the tension.
"Sis…" he said, his voice low but steady, "don't. You didn't drag me anywhere. I wanted to step in. I protect you because I want to, not because you asked me to. So, stop blaming yourself, alright?"
Sophie's shoulders sagged slightly, a shaky breath escaping her lips. For the first time that night, a small, tentative smile broke through her guilt. Niero returned it with a nod, and for a moment, the chaos of the world outside—the anger, the fear, the threats—felt distant. In that messy bedroom, with the smell of bacon and the soft hum of his PC, brother and sister simply existed. And that, in itself, felt like victory.
Sophie's shoulders slumped as she sat on the edge of Niero's cluttered bed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I… I feel like I failed as a big sister," she admitted, eyes fixed on the floor. "I'm supposed to protect you, not the other way around…"
Niero leaned back against his chair, arms crossed, a fierce fire still lingering in his gaze despite the adrenaline wearing off. He shook his head, letting out a small chuckle that carried both exasperation and warmth.
"You didn't drag me into anything, Sis," he said firmly. "I jumped in. I couldn't just stand there and watch some dumb idiot kid—Richard—and his stupid fan-girl entourage bully you over… over rumors, over some pathetic attempt at domination."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice so it was only for her ears.
"I can handle myself. Just like you handle yourself every day. So, drop the sadness, drop the shame. Be proud instead—for the fact that a 10-year-old boy can stand up and beat up a 12-year-old brat who thought he could get away with it."
Sophie blinked, her lips twitching into a small, relieved smile. For the first time since the incident, a weight lifted from her chest. Her little brother, fierce and unyielding, had not only protected her but reminded her why she could trust him—and why she could forgive herself for being human.
Before Niero could even relax into his gaming chair, the rapid pitter-patter of tiny footsteps echoed through the hallway. He barely had time to react before a small, sobbing figure barreled into his room.
"Daaahhh!" Daisy's cries filled the space as her tiny frame tackled him, sending both of them sprawling across the floor. Fortunately, the soft pile of scattered clothes cushioned the impact, but the intensity of her hug and tears was enough to make Niero freeze mid-breath.
Through hiccups and sniffles, Daisy blurted out, "I… I heard from Mom and Aunt Alura… that you got hurt fighting those… meanie bullies!"
Niero rolled his eyes and sat up, brushing off clothes like battle armor. He leaned down, a devious smirk curling across his face as he ruffled her hair.
"Relax, Daisy. Your big bro came out victorious, and not a scratch to show for it," he teased, trying to suppress the grin threatening to break into laughter. "So, no tears, alright?"
Sophie stepped forward, carefully placing the plate of Mac n' Cheese on Niero's gaming table, letting the comforting scent fill the room. She gently pulled Daisy away, wrapping her in a soft hug.
"Go on, Daisy. Let Niero finish his game and relax," she said, her voice patient but firm. Daisy sniffled one last time, then obediently shuffled toward the door, throwing Niero a last worried glance before leaving.
As the sisters whispered their goodnights and disappeared into the hallway, a familiar voice called from the doorway.
"What's all this ruckus about now?" Aunt Alura asked, her tone calm yet laced with concern.
Niero barely glanced up, about to return to his gaming session, when another soft knock came—this time from Alura herself. She stood there, her expression a mixture of curiosity and care, and Niero felt a twinge of anticipation. Something in her calm, concerned look made him pause mid-breath, controller in hand.
Alura leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, her eyes sparkling with mischief and pride.
"I heard everything from Mom," she said, her tone calm yet carrying that unmistakable edge of amusement.
Niero tilted his head, letting out a sarcastic snort.
"Really? You could've at least talked to Mom privately instead of letting Daisy hear the whole thing, tackle me, and bawl her eyes out like I was dead!"
Alura's grin widened, her chest puffing with quiet pride.
"You know… I'm impressed. A ten-year-old taking down a twelve-year-old? That takes guts."
Niero frowned, crossing his arms.
"Moms not exactly impressed. She has to pay restitution for that spoiled brat—he's unconscious, but alive. And she's not happy about it."
Alura's expression softened, and she reached out to pat his shoulder.
"Don't worry about that, champ. I'll handle the restitution… with the winnings I just took from my losing friends." She smirked knowingly, the faint clink of coins almost audible in the quiet room.
Then, with a theatrical flourish, she produced a small, cheap-looking folding knife and held it out toward him.
"Consider this a reward. Easy to conceal, quick to whip out if danger ever comes your way. I also snagged it from a gambling friend—pretty sure they had some secret intentions with it towards me, so I'm giving it to someone I can trust."
Niero's brow furrowed, a mixture of concern and curiosity crossing his face.
"Uh… Mom's going to be angry if she finds out you gave me this."
Alura waved her hand dismissively, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.
"She won't find out. Good night, champ."
With that, she turned, leaving the door slightly ajar as she departed. Niero stared at the folding knife in his hands, the weight of it both literal and symbolic. Alone now in his room, the adrenaline of the day gave way to quiet reflection, the small gift a reminder of family, protection, and the strange, precarious line between safety and danger in his life.
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By the time Niero finally set down his empty plate, the remnants of Mac n' Cheese and bacon bits gone, a quiet calm had settled over his room. He pushed back his gaming chair and climbed onto his bed, letting the cool sheets wrap around him. Outside his window, the neon glow of Sector 13 stretched into the distance, the hum of hovercars and faint chatter of night markets blending into a soothing lullaby.
He leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin in his hands, eyes tracing the bustling city below. Lights flickered in patterns only he seemed to notice, reflecting off the sleek surfaces of the buildings like tiny stars fallen from the heavens. For a moment, he let himself forget the day's chaos, the fights, the yelling, and the fear. Here, he could just… watch, think, breathe.
"Everything's so… alive," he murmured softly, almost to himself. "And yet… it's calm. Like the world doesn't know what I've done today… or maybe it doesn't care."
He felt a strange mix of pride and guilt swell in his chest. Pride for standing up for Sophie, for protecting what was his family; guilt for the violence, the consequences yet to come, and the worry he had caused Daisy. But despite the whirlwind of emotion, there was also a quiet certainty—a spark that whispered he could handle what came next, that he could face whatever the world—or his own choices—threw at him.
The city lights twinkled back at him, indifferent yet comforting. Niero let out a slow, steady breath, feeling the tension seep from his body. For now, at least, the night was his. And in the stillness, he could plan, dream, and prepare for tomorrow—the next fight, the next challenge, the next step toward becoming stronger.
He slid the window open, and the night air rushed in, cool and sharp, carrying with it the distant hum of Sector 13. It brushed against his skin, tugged at his hair, and for a brief moment, he hoped it would be enough to calm the turbulence churning inside his chest.
Niero reached into his pocket and pulled out the folding knife Aunt Alura had given him. Cheap. Light. Almost unimpressive. The metal caught the city lights as he turned it over in his fingers, the faint reflection warping across the blade like something alive.
"What's wrong with me…?" he whispered.
Beating Richard hadn't just felt like justice. That truth gnawed at him now. It had felt good—too good. Not just righteous anger, but release. As if the violence had given shape to something vast and feral that had been clawing at him from the inside, begging to be unleashed.
He clenched the knife tighter, knuckles whitening.
There was a storm in him. Not the kind that passed with time or reason, not the kind a cool breeze could wash away. It raged quietly, endlessly—pressure without a name, fury without a target. Protecting Sophie had been real. But it had also been an excuse. A door. A justification to let that hidden force spill out without guilt.
And that terrified him more than the fight itself.
Niero shut his eyes, exhaling slowly, feeling the weight of the blade in his palm. He didn't know where that storm came from. He didn't know why it lived inside him. All he knew was that it refused to fade… and that someday, sooner or later, it would demand more than just a schoolyard brawl to be satisfied.
Outside, the city lights shimmered on—unaware, uncaring. Inside, something in Niero's soul stirred, restless and hungry, waiting for the moment it would finally be named.
Lost in the echo of his own thoughts, Niero's gaze drifted aimlessly across Sector 13—until it stopped.
At the far intersection below, beneath a flickering streetlamp, stood a woman.
A tall woman wore a white sundress. A wide-brimmed white sunhat.
At midnight.
The sight sent a chill crawling up his spine. The air was cold enough to fog breath, the streets nearly empty, yet she stood there motionless, her pale silhouette glowing faintly beneath the artificial light—wrong in a way his mind couldn't immediately explain.
Niero leaned closer to the glass, heart beginning to thud. "Who…?"
Instinct kicked in. He turned away, fumbling through his desk drawer for the binoculars he used to spy delivery drones and rooftop cats. It took only a second—maybe two.
When he looked back—
She was gone.
No footsteps. No retreating figure. No trace that anyone had ever been there at all.
His breath caught.
The intersection lay empty, silent, as if it had been that way all along.
Unease coiled tight in his stomach. Slowly, deliberately, Niero shut the window. The latch clicked into place with a sound that felt far too loud in the quiet room. He locked it. Then checked it again.
Only then did he step back, pressing his shoulders against the wall.
"Just my imagination," he muttered, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.
The night breeze was gone. The room felt colder somehow.
And for the first time since the storm inside him had begun to stir, Niero felt something else—
The creeping, unmistakable sense that he wasn't alone anymore… even in his own home.
Niero bolted backward onto his bed, yanking the blanket over himself like a shield.
"It's nothing," he whispered into the dark, forcing the words through clenched teeth. "Just my imagination. Too much MaxEdge. That's all."
He turned onto his side, curling inward, arms instinctively wrapping around his body pillow. The familiar weight grounded him. Slowly, his breathing steadied. His racing thoughts dulled.
Sleep crept in.
Then—
His heart skipped.
A cold, crawling sensation slid across his skin.
Niero froze.
Something was wrong.
He tightened his grip on the pillow—and felt it.
Another hand.
It was large. Slender.
Chalk-white.
The fingers were impossibly long, joints bending just a little too far, resting against his chest with intimate stillness.
That was not his hand.
Cold sweat broke across his back as his eyes slowly tracked upward, following the arm.
It wasn't short.
It wasn't human.
The elongated limb stretched unnaturally across the bed… toward the window.
The window he had locked.
A shadow pooled over the glass, blotting out the streetlight beyond, as though something stood directly outside—pressed close.
His bedroom wall trembled with flickering light, and there it was—
A silhouette.
Tall.
Humanoid.
Its head crowned with something round.
Niero's breath hitched. His vision swam as his eyes, trembling despite his will, lifted toward the window.
And met her.
The woman in the white sundress.
The wide-brimmed sunhat.
She stood impossibly close, her face swallowed by pitch-black shadow—except for one thing.
Two white slivers.
Eyes.
Not glowing. Not blinking.
Just vast, empty voids rimmed with pale sclera, staring straight into him.
Watching. Waiting.
And with its broken, distorted voice;
".....b...a...b..y....."
Niero's blood turned to ice.
The storm inside him—the rage, the violence, the unspoken hunger—went utterly still.
In that moment, he understood something without words:
Whatever this thing was…
It hadn't come by accident.
It had come for him.
Niero tried to scream.
The sound never left his throat.
An elongated hand snapped over his mouth—cold, dry, and unyielding—smothering his breath as the world lurched violently sideways.
The mattress vanished beneath him.
The room blurred.
In a single, fluid motion, the thing hauled him through the window as if gravity meant nothing, his body coiling helplessly as its inhuman arms wrapped around his torso like living restraints.
The night air tore into his lungs.
Sector 13 exploded past him.
Neon shop signs streaked into lines of color. Closed cafés. Parked cars. Darkened windows flashing by in dizzying succession as the creature ran—not with heavy footsteps, but with long, gliding strides that devoured distance unnaturally fast.*
Niero thrashed, kicked, clawed.
Nothing.
The grip only tightened.
They crossed the street.
Passed houses.
Then the looming silhouette of one of the Blocks—Sector 13's massive apartment complexes—rose overhead like a concrete giant as they tore past it.
His vision blurred with tears and terror.
Then—
A sound.
A sharp, mechanical wail sliced through the night.
WEEEEEE—WEEEEEE—WEEEEEE
Red warning lights flared to life along rooftops and street poles.
[ SECTOR SECURITY ALERT: HOLLOW ENTITY DETECTED]
Automated shutters slammed down. Drones stirred in distant launch bays.
The creature hissed.
Not in pain—
In irritation.
It changed direction abruptly, veering toward the dark fringe of Sector 13 where concrete gave way to trees, streetlights thinning until the forest swallowed them whole.
Branches tore at Niero's skin.
Leaves slapped against his face.
The smell of damp earth and rot filled his lungs.
He was running out of time.
Panic threatened to drown him—until something sharp pressed against his ribs.
His pocket.
The cheap folding knife.
Aunt Alura's stupid joke.
His fingers twitched.
His heart pounded.
Move. Now.
With a strangled grunt, Niero twisted just enough to wrench the knife free, flicking it opens with shaking hands.
He didn't aim for precision.
He aimed for survival.
The blade plunged into the chalk-white flesh gripping him.
The creature shrieked—high and piercing, a sound that didn't belong to any throat made for breathing.
Black fluid sprayed, sizzling faintly where it hit the ground.
The grip loosened—just for a second.
Niero didn't waste it.
He leaned forward and bit down.
Hard.
Teeth sank into unnatural flesh.
The taste was wrong—bitter, metallic, burning his tongue—but he didn't let go, roaring into the creature's hand with every ounce of fear and fury he had.
The storm inside him ignited.
Rage.
Desperation.
Defiance.
The creature howled, thrashing wildly as its hold finally faltered—
And Niero felt himself slipping free.
The forest spun.
Niero's body struck the slope hard, momentum ripping control from him as he tumbled head over heels down the damp hillside.
Pain bloomed everywhere at once—shoulder, ribs, spine—each impact stealing his breath as the world blurred into streaks of dirt, leaves, and starlight.
Then—silence.
The shrill ringing in his ears faded, replaced by the distant, echoing wail of Anti-Hollow sirens cutting through the night.
WOOOO—WOOOO—WOOOO
Red warning lights pulsed faintly between the trees.
Niero lay there for a heartbeat too long, chest heaving, lungs burning, until instinct screamed at him to move.
He forced himself upright and looked around.
Sector 13 Central Park.
A vast stretch of old trees loomed overhead, their branches interlocking like grasping fingers. Moonlight shimmered across a wide, still lake nearby—beautiful, serene—utterly wrong for the terror flooding his veins.
Then he heard it.
Rustling.
Branches bending.
A sound that might have been a voice—if voices were meant to sound cracked, broken, and wrong.
"ｂａａｂｂｂｂｙｙｙｙｙｙ—"
The word scraped through the forest like shattered glass.
Niero's blood ran cold.
It was calling for him.
He bolted.
Feet slipping over roots and wet grass, lungs screaming, heart hammering so hard it drowned out thought.
Shelter—anything.
His gaze locked onto a small gardening shed near the lakeside, its door half-rusted, paint peeling.
He threw himself inside and slammed the door shut, collapsing against the wall as he clamped both hands over his mouth, forcing his breathing into shallow, silent gasps.
Please… please don't—
Something moved outside.
Heavy.
Too close.
The trees groaned as something massive pushed through them.
Then the air lit up.
Anti-Hollow drones swept overhead, blue targeting beams slicing through the darkness as they opened fire.
Explosions flashed.
Metal screamed.
Hope flared—
And died instantly.
Elongated arms lashed out like living whips, swatting drones from the sky one by one.
Shattered metal rained into the underbrush.
Silence followed.
Then—pressure.
The shed creaked violently as something wrapped around it.
Wood groaned.
Metal bent.
The entire structure shook as the entity pulled it close, its voice erupting into a wailing shriek that vibrated through Niero's bones.
"ｂａａｂｂｂｂｙｙｙｙｙｙ—ｃｏｏｏｏｍｍｍｍｅｅｅｅ ｏｏｏｏｏｕｕｕｕｔｔｔｔｔｔ—"
The walls trembled.
Splinters rained down.
Niero pressed himself into the corner, eyes wide, teeth clenched so hard they ached.
The door buckled very hard and violently.
Once.
Twice.
Each impact thundered through the shed, rattling rusted hinges and shaking loose splinters from the ceiling.
Niero slammed his shoulder against the door, both hands braced against the cold metal as if his entire body could become a barricade.
His arms screamed in protest.
Every strike from the other side felt heavier than the last—like the weight of something ancient and starving for him.
Outside, the thing wailed.
"MMMMMYYYYY—BAAAAAAABBBBBBYYYYYYY—"
The sound was wrong.
Broken.
Too broken and distorted to be human.
Rage churned with terror inside Niero's chest, twisting into something violent and suffocating.
His hands slipped.
The door bent inward another inch.
"I—I can't—!"
His vision blurred.
Hot tears burned at the corners of his eyes—not just from fear, but from fury.
Fury at being weak.
Fury at being hunted.
Fury at having no choice.
He clenched his teeth, muscles shaking as he forced himself to hold on.
Just a little longer.
Someone will come.
They have to—
Then—
A voice spoke.
Not outside.
Not behind him.
Inside.
> "Why hold on… when you can change your fate?"
Niero's breath hitched.
"What…?"
Before he could think, something **answered** inside him.
A surge—
A roar—
Blue-cyan light spiraled around his hands, wrapping his fingers, crawling up his forearms like living fire. It didn't burn—
It empowered.
Strength flooded his limbs.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
The metal door hissed where his palms touched it, glowing faintly as if the energy was searing straight through steel.
The entity shrieked—confused, panicked—
"BABY—?"
Niero felt it then.
Not fear.
Not helplessness.
Control.
His heart thundered as he screamed—not in terror, but in pure, unrestrained defiance.
"GET—AWAY—FROOMMMM—MEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
He thrust his hands forward.
The energy detonated.
The shed door exploded outward, ripped free from its frame as if struck by a cannon. The blast slammed into the white-clad entity, hurling her screaming form backward through the air—
—and straight into the lake.
Water erupted in a violent plume, ripples tearing across the once-serene surface.
Silence followed.
Niero staggered back, chest heaving, hands still glowing faintly as the energy slowly dissipated into sparks of light.
His arms trembled.
His heart raced.
But he was standing.
Alive.
And somewhere deep within his soul, something had awakened.
The lake began to bubble.
Anti-Hollow drones swooped in from above, red warning sigils flaring as they circled the churning water, scanning, locking, recalibrating. Their searchlights cut through the lake—
Then—
A hand burst from the lake.
Too long.
Too pale.
Fingers splayed like broken branches.
Niero's blood turned to ice.
"—Nope!"
He bolted.
Branches lashed at his face as he tore into the trees behind him, lungs burning, feet slipping over roots and wet soil. Sirens wailed in the distance, their echoes distorted by the forest canopy, but he didn't slow down—not until the lights vanished behind him.
Only then did he duck behind a thick tree trunk, pressing his back against the bark as he fought to quiet his breathing.
His hands trembled.
What was that?
What did I just do?
The memory of the blue-cyan light still clung to his skin like phantom heat. The force. The certainty. That voice—
It wasn't...that thing.
It hadn't come from the woman in white.
It hadn't come from outside at all.
Then whose was it?
As if answering his thoughts—
> "About time you showed some fighting spirit."
Niero froze.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
"Who—?" he whispered, spinning around, eyes darting between the trees, shadows stretching and warping in the flickering emergency lights filtering through the leaves.
Silence.
Only the rustle of branches.
Only his own ragged breath.
The voice hadn't sounded cruel.
It hadn't sounded kind, either.
It sounded… expectant.
Niero swallowed hard, gripping the cheap folding knife in his pocket like a lifeline.
Niero risked a glance to his right.
Between the dense rows of trees, faint red lights pulsed rhythmically—Anti-Hollow sirens bleeding through the forest like distant heartbeats. The sound was muted but unmistakable.
Help was close. Not close enough—but close.
His chest loosened just a fraction.
Then he turned left.
And the world stopped.
A woman floated there, a handspan above the forest floor, utterly untouched by gravity. Long glowing silver hair spilled down her back in asymmetric waves, streaked with luminous blue that glowed faintly in the darkness. Each strand drifted as though submerged in water, moving to a current Niero couldn't feel.
Above her head hovered a halo—not divine, not holy, but something far stranger: a rotating ring of light etched with shifting symbols and microscopic data streams, ticking softly like a clock that measured something far more important than time.
Her dress resembled a sleeveless qipao, elegant and form-fitting against her slender frame, but its fabric was alive—threaded through with glowing grids of cascading code that scrolled, paused, and rewrote themselves in real time. Behind her, a pearlescent geometric construct unfolded with a whisper of energy, resolving into a pair of compact, angular wings that refracted moonlight into impossible colors.
She looked… amused.
Niero's body locked up, instincts screaming too loudly for his muscles to respond. Fight. Run. Scream. None of it came. His fingers tightened uselessly around the knife in his pocket as his mind raced, desperately trying to classify what he was seeing.
Not Hollow creatures.
Not human.
Not anything I've ever seen.
The woman tilted her head slightly, one brow arching as a smug half-smile curved her lips.
> "Well?" she said lightly, her voice smooth and maddeningly casual in an accent similar to British.
She gestured vaguely toward the lake behind him—toward the sirens, the chaos, the near-death escape.
> "This is usually the part where you say thank you."
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<<<[ Ch 10, Part 2 - End ]>>>