Achristos had been staring at the ceiling for a while.
He wasn't asleep. Not really. Just lying there, eyes unfocused, letting his thoughts drift wherever they wanted. The bunk above him creaked faintly with the slow, uneven breathing of someone who'd learned how to sleep without actually sleeping. The room itself was narrow and utilitarian, built for efficiency rather than comfort — rows of identical bunk beds stacked two high, lockers bolted into the walls, and strips of cold white light running along the ceiling like scars.
He was supposed to be resting.
Instead, he was daydreaming about not being here.
About transfer papers. About promotion notices. About a future where the air didn't smell faintly of recycled ozone and sterilizing agents. Somewhere with real sunlight. Or at least a sky that didn't constantly threaten to tear itself open.
His fingers twitched against the thin mattress as he exhaled slowly.
'P25. Just a little longer…'
The siren went off.
It wasn't loud at first. Just a low, rising hum that seeped into the room, vibrating through the metal walls and straight into his bones. The hum sharpened into a shrill, pulsing alarm a second later, lights flicking from white to amber in rapid succession.
Achristos grimaced.
"Right on schedule, eh? Fuck me sideways…"
Above him, the room stirred to life. The sharp snap of someone swinging down from an upper bunk a little too fast. Achristos reached over to the small fold-out desk beside his bed and grabbed his tablet, the screen already lighting up with cascading alerts.
"INHUMAN ENTITY ERADICATION DEPARTMENT. CATEGORY TWO NIGHTMARE GATE DETECTED. DEPLOYMENT IMMINENT."
He skimmed the details with practiced ease. Location. Estimated time to breach. Obel scale. Nothing unusual. Nothing comforting, either.
He sighed, long and tired, and let the tablet fall back onto the desk.
"So much for a nap."
Not that he was allowed to sleep at this time. As an Awakened, he had a set sleep schedule, since it'd be impossible to wake him up from the real world.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his shoulders as if that might somehow make the next few hours easier. The siren cut off abruptly, replaced by the steady, impersonal voice of the station's announcement system, repeating deployment orders on loop.
Something landed beside him with a heavy thud.
Achristos didn't flinch. He didn't even look over.
"Morning."
Ruumis straightened up, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants. Even without looking, Achristos could hear the grin in his voice.
"You hear that? That's opportunity knocking."
"That's the sound of my spine aging another decade. Get out of my personal space."
Ruumis laughed, completely ignoring him, and leaned back against the bunk frame.
"This might be it. Clean op, good metrics, heroic footage. P25's practically guaranteed."
Achristos snorted as he reached for his boots.
"You say that everytime."
"And one of these times I'll be right."
Achristos tightened the straps.
"Statistically speaking, that's not impressive."
Ruumis only grinned wider.
They filed out with the rest of the Awakened personnel, boots hitting metal flooring in a familiar rhythm. The corridor beyond the bunks was already crowded, armored technicians and support staff moving with clipped efficiency, everyone knowing exactly where to go and how fast to get there.
The pods waited at the end of the hall.
Two of them stood open, sleek and coffin-shaped, white ceramic shells humming softly as energy coursed through the embedded conduits. Achristos slowed as he approached, watching faint white sparks dance across the interior.
He still thought it was ridiculous.
All that power. All that potential. Reduced to standardized equipment and mass-produced Memories, parceled out like uniforms.
He stepped into the pod.
The interior sealed around him, cool and snug, light washing over his body as the system activated. The familiar sensation crawled over his skin as armor assembled itself piece by piece — plates locking into place, flexible underlayers tightening, the helmet forming last with a soft hiss.
It looked exactly like everyone else's.
Same angular plating. Same muted colors. Same insignia stamped where individuality used to matter. They didn't even have their own personal armor to carry. Instead, they needed these weird pods that everyone shared, which somehow recognized them individually and gave the correct measurements and code numbers for identification.
Achristos clenched his jaw.
They got a bonus for each Memory they submitted, and would get in trouble if they were using one that wasn't provided by the IPC. All of them looked like clones — at the very least, they were allowed to choose what weapon they wanted, but even those looked extremely similar to eachother.
Only Masters and Saints were exempt.
Only those too valuable to control.
The pod shuddered.
Ruumis' voice crackled through the comm.
"Hey, look at it this way. At least we're paid better."
Achristos huffed despite himself.
That part was true. Awakened pay was nearly double that of a standard employee at the same rank. Bonuses for every submitted Memory. Hazard compensation stacked on top of hazard compensation.
Blood money, but money all the same.
The pod launched.
Acceleration pressed him back as the capsule rocketed through the station's tunnel network, magnetic rails screaming softly as they redirected him again and again. Achristos barely noticed. He'd done this too many times.
Instead, his thoughts drifted forward.
'Branch Director.'
P25 meant administrative authority. Fewer front-line deployments. More distance between him and Nightmare Gates.
More importantly, it meant leverage.
A chance to leave.
The planet they were orbiting wasn't supposed to exist like this. Not anymore. And yet the IPC had poured resources into it — built an entire observation station that wrapped around it like a halo, invisible to those below thanks to absurdly expensive alloys.
Four Saints on standby.
For some backward, technologically regressive civilization.
Achristos didn't know why. He didn't want to.
He just wanted out.
The pods slowed abruptly, magnetic locks disengaging as they slid into position. A soft hiss signaled decompression.
The shell opened.
Achristos stepped out into the staging bay, boots hitting reinforced plating as the rest of his temporary squad assembled nearby. Six Awakened total. Identical armor. Modulated voices.
Anonymous.
He scanned them automatically, habit kicking in.
Azarado stood out immediately — broad shoulders, heavy build. His partner, Afflito, beside him, noticeably smaller, movements economical and precise.
Nom leaned against the wall with an air of mild irritation, tall and slender, arms crossed. Shazi hovered near her, posture relaxed, hands clasped behind their back.
Achristos raised a hand.
"Hey."
No response.
He paused, then sighed.
"…It's Achristos."
Nom tilted her head slightly.
"Oh. Right. Harpoon guy."
"Thrilled to be remembered."
Ruumis laughed as he joined them, armor gleaming faintly under the bay lights.
"Don't take it personally. If they didn't need us alive, they wouldn't bother learning names at all."
"Comforting."
The sarcasm was palpable.
The docking port irised open, revealing the compact transport craft waiting beyond. They filed in quickly, taking assigned seats along the walls. At the front stood their commanding Master, back to them, checking a device on her wrist.
Achristos didn't recognize her.
He never did. The IPC rotated Masters constantly — kept them distant, interchangeable. He supposed that was the point.
As the ship detached, he leaned back in his seat and let out a quiet breath.
"Eighteen years, huh?"
Ruumis glanced over.
"Thought you'd been here longer."
Achristos chuckled softly.
"You wouldn't know what I'm talking about. You joined three years ago. After my old partner got killed."
Ruumis stilled.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
The ship began its descent.
"Nightmare activity spiked after the Winter Solstice, eighteen years ago. 17777 A.N. Been getting worse ever since. Everywhere. But this place…"
He shook his head.
"This place got hit hardest."
Below them, the planet loomed.
Earth.
He'd seen the archived images. Seven continents once. Eight, after Australia split. Oceans teeming with life. Green everywhere.
Now?
Ten percent of native life left. The rest reconstructed and exported like data backups.
Every continent overrun with Nightmare Creatures.
Except one.
Asia.
The City of Preservation stretched across it like a scar — endless districts stacked atop one another, Center and Outskirts divided by invisible walls of wealth and power. The elites lived above. The rest scraped by below.
The IPC called it a success.
Achristos watched the lights of the Outskirts grow closer.
He had no idea what this project was for.
The ship shuddered as it landed.
Outside, sirens wailed again. Non-Awakened personnel rushed to evacuate civilians, pushing them back as barriers snapped into place.
The hatch opened.
Their Ascended leader stepped out first.
She was tall, silver-haired, dressed in a pristine professional suit that somehow accommodated the weight of the mace in one hand and the rapier in the other.
Achristos followed, rifle in hand, harpoon secured at his back. Saves the time of swapping between them by not having to dismiss and summon them.
In the center of the street, the Gate waited.
A tall, vertical distortion in the world itself. Light bent around it, twisted into wrong angles. The air screamed without sound.
The Master checked her device.
"Fifty seconds."
Achristos tightened his grip.
Somewhere deep inside, something old and tired braced itself.
***
The fifty seconds stretched.
Not in the dramatic way stories liked to pretend — no slow-motion heartbeats, no poetic stillness. Just the raw, uncomfortable kind of waiting where your muscles tense for too long and your thoughts start drifting to places they shouldn't.
Achristos rolled his shoulders once, subtly, feeling the armor respond and compensate. The hum of power beneath the plates was steady.
Around him, the others shifted into formation without being told. Azarado up front, a walking bulwark. Ruumis beside him, loose-limbed, hands empty, posture almost casual. Nom and Shazi angled toward the rear, rifles raised but not yet firing. Afflito stood slightly apart, weight balanced on the balls of her feet, blade held low.
The Master didn't look back at them.
She didn't need to.
The Gate changed.
It was abrupt enough that Achristos felt it more than saw it. The vertical depression deepened, light collapsing inward as if dragged by an unseen gravity. The inaudible screams sharpened into something that made the back of his teeth ache. The street itself seemed to bow, asphalt cracking in spiderweb patterns as reality gave way.
Then it tore open.
A rift, black and impossibly deep, stretched across the width of the street and climbed the sides of the buildings like a wound that refused to close. No light escaped it. No reflection. Just absence.
Achristos swallowed.
Ruumis muttered, excitement bleeding through his modulated voice despite everything.
Something moved inside the rift.
The first Awakened Beast crawled out on all fours, stone-gray hide scraping against the ground. Its body was a grotesque fusion — wasp-like segments fused with gargoyle bulk, jointed limbs ending in clawed extremities that gouged furrows into the street. No wings. Just raw mass and hunger.
Then another.
And another.
"And another… oh, Qlipoth."
They poured out in a tide, bodies colliding, climbing over one another with insectile efficiency. The smell hit him next — dust, ozone, something faintly metallic.
The Master moved.
She blurred forward in a burst of speed that left a crack in the air behind her. Her mace came down with terrifying force, pulverizing the first creature's head into a spray of stone and ichor. Her rapier followed immediately, thrusting through another's thorax, the blade flashing silver as she withdrew it cleanly.
"Fire."
Rifles barked to life.
Achristos raised his weapon and squeezed the trigger, controlled bursts of energy tearing into the swarm. Beasts dropped, bodies collapsing into brittle fragments that dissolved into shadow before hitting the ground.
Ruumis and Nom surged forward, closing the distance with reckless confidence. Ruumis' fists slammed into a Beast's chest, caving it inward with a shockwave that rippled through its body. Nom's blade flashed, precise and lethal.
Azarado was a wall — creatures shattered against him, his sheer mass and strength turning their charge into a liability.
Achristos stepped back half a pace, eyes flicking across the battlefield.
A symbol flared to life along the shaft of his harpoon — intricate, angular, its blade etched in amber light. He hurled it.
The weapon screamed through the air, punching cleanly through a Beast's skull and pinning it to the street behind. The harpoon shuddered, then twisted midair and tore itself free, snapping back into Achristos' waiting hand.
[You have slain an Awakened Beast, Lantern Dweller.]
Behind him, Ruumis roared as he tore a Beast apart with his bare hands. Achristos felt the shift — subtle, but unmistakable — as Ruumis' katana unsheathed itself, floating free of its scabbard. It spun once, then streaked past Ruumis' shoulder, slicing a Dweller in half before returning to hover near him.
Ruumis didn't even glance at it.
He trusted Achristos completely.
The first wave broke under their combined assault.
The second was worse.
Lantern Ensnarers emerged next — gargoyle-like spiders with too many eyes and limbs that moved at angles that made Achristos' skin crawl. They skittered along walls and ceilings, launching themselves into the fray with horrifying speed.
"Up!"
Nom pivoted, firing upward as an Ensnarer leapt. Shazi's voice cut through the chaos, a warm pulse rippled outward, knitting Azarados' torn muscle and sealing wounds in an instant.
Then the air changed again.
Achristos felt it before he saw them.
Lantern Bearers.
They strode out of the Gate with a deliberate pace, centaur-like bodies carved from dark stone, lanterns swinging gently from their hands. Green light spilled from within, casting long, warped shadows across the battlefield.
Awakened Demons.
The Master was already moving to intercept them, her speed pushing beyond what Achristos thought possible. She danced between their strikes, mace and rapier a blur of motion, holding them at bay with terrifying efficiency.
The rest of the squad fell back, focusing fire on the Monsters and Beasts still flooding out of the Gate.
Minutes blurred together.
Two of them.
Three.
Achristos lost count.
By the time the last Bearer fell, shattered under the Master's relentless assault, the street was unrecognizable. Craters pocked the ground. Buildings were scarred and half-collapsed.
The Gate pulsed.
Then stilled.
No more creatures emerged.
Achristos exhaled, lungs burning.
"Guardian next."
Shazi moved through them, healing what little damage remained with a blown kiss. He couldn't tell if she was actually doing so, since she wore a helmet like the rest of them...
Achristos flexed his fingers, feeling blood still seep beneath the armor at his chest.
They reformed their positions.
The Gate rippled once more.
Something small stepped out.
Achristos frowned.
It was… unimpressive.
A dwarf-like figure, cloaked head to toe in dark fabric, a lantern clutched gently in its hands. It walked with the slow, deliberate pace of an old man, feet barely disturbing the ground.
A pressure settled over the street.
Not crushing.
Just wrong.
Achristos' instincts screamed — and found nothing to latch onto. No sense of Rank. No Class. Just a void where understanding should have been.
The Master lunged without hesitation.
She accelerated — then slowed.
Her eyes widened as she forced more power into her Aspect, bursting forward again before abruptly retreating, speed snapping back as she widened the distance between herself and the creature.
The creature didn't pursue.
It looked around.
Then turned and began walking west.
Ruumis blinked.
"What?"
The Master paused for a moment, before ordering:
"Fire."
They did.
The shots reached it.
They did nothing.
Energy rounds struck the cloak and bounced off harmlessly, scattering sparks across the pavement. The Nightmare Creature stopped and turned back toward them.
Achristos' heart hammered.
Then… it fell limply, like the strings holding it up were cut.
The pressure subsided.
Before anyone could react, a man appeared behind the Master — his hair black, with eyes like mirrors, perfectly reflecting the world.
He smiled pleasantly as he kicked her forward with absurd strength.
Chaos erupted.
They fired immediately.
The man vanished before the shots reached him, leaving only a shard of glass clinking against the ground.
The creature stirred.
The pressure returned — with the Master much closer to its source.
She hit the ground hard, forced to her hands and knees. She tried to crawl away, muscles shaking violently as the creature approached with the speed of an old man.
It loomed behind her.
The cloak rustled.
Something enormous unfolded.
A head — layer upon layer of spiraling teeth, rotating and grinding — engulfed her and the earth beneath her in one horrific motion. The sound was wet and awful, teeth tearing through armor, through flesh, through bone.
Achristos couldn't move.
He couldn't breathe.
The creature swallowed.
Its head retracted, shrinking back beneath the cloak. The body went limp once more.
The man reappeared beside it, sighing.
"Although its Devil Ability is deadly against most, it would be terribly ineffective against Sunless. He could simply retreat through the shadows."
He tilted his head, assessing.
"The body's speed and strength leave much to be desired as well."
Then he was gone.
The nightmare didn't end.
It only got worse.
Achristos turned just in time to see Afflito's blade pierce through Azarado's chest.
His partner twisted the sabre, expression absent as she murmured to herself, analyzing even as she killed.
"Being able to hide to a certain degree from the usual five senses is impressive, but Sunless seems to have a sixth one. At least, that's how my Reflections seemed to act when taking his shape."
Her body went limp, disappearing in an instance.
Nom killed Shazi next, her hand grasping something invisible as the latter shrieked, until she grew still and died. Nom placed her hand to her open mouth, as if eating what she had torn out.
It all happened too quickly—!
"This Aspect is certainly useful for ignoring physical defenses, but the conditions to activate it are so obvious that Sunless could easily keep his distance. If only this body was Ascended — if I created a successful surprise attack somehow, maybe I could fulfill those conditions."
Nom's body went lifeless, before disappearing.
Achristos didn't remember lowering his rifle.
He only noticed it hanging uselessly at his side when his fingers started shaking and found nothing solid to brace against.
The street had gone quiet in the worst possible way. Just the hum of the open Nightmare Gate and the sound of his own breathing echoing inside his helmet.
Ruumis stood a short distance away, shoulders squared, fists clenched so tightly the armor around them creaked. His katana hovered behind him, vibrating faintly, like it was angry it hadn't been allowed to finish its work.
Of course, that was just Achristos losing focus.
The man with mirror-like eyes stood between them, hands clasped behind his back, posture relaxed to the point of insult. He looked ordinary. Too ordinary. Like someone who didn't belong on a battlefield and didn't care that he was standing on one.
The man looked between Achristos and Ruumis.
Both were still standing. Barely.
Their squad lay dead around them, armor cracked open, blood dark against broken stone. The Master was gone — not fallen, not defeated, simply erased. The silence that followed was worse than the fighting had been.
Achristos' breath came uneven behind his helmet.
Ruumis' hands were clenched at his sides.
No words passed between them.
They moved at the same time.
Achristos did not rush forward. Instead, he planted his feet and reached outward through his Aspect, calling both weapons at once. The harpoon shuddered where it lay embedded in the street, amber lines flaring along its shaft. Several meters away, Ruumis' katana lifted from the ground, its edge humming as it darted to the man.
Ruumis lunged.
He closed the distance in a blur, fists driving forward with brutal simplicity. No feints. No restraint. His first punch cracked against the man's guard with enough force to send a shockwave through the air, stone splintering beneath their feet.
The man smiled.
"I suppose I'll humor you two before I go."
A longsword appeared in his hand.
Ruumis did not slow.
His second punch followed immediately, then a knee, then a short-range elbow strike aimed at the throat. Each blow carried raw, escalating force — unrefined, relentless. The man shifted his stance, blade flashing as he turned aside what he could, absorbing the rest with movements that minimized impact.
Achristos joined in.
The harpoon tore free from the ground, screaming as it shot toward the man's blind side. At the same time, the katana curved through the air, cutting in from above, its trajectory precise and merciless.
The man pivoted.
Steel rang as he parried the katana, the impact snapping it aside. He twisted his wrist and caught the harpoon's shaft with the flat of his blade, redirecting it downward. The weapon smashed into the pavement, carving a trench before Achristos yanked it back mid-slide.
Ruumis was already there.
His fist slammed into the man's ribs.
The blow landed solidly. The man slid back a step, boots grinding against fractured stone. His smile sharpened — not from pain, but recognition.
Achristos didn't give him space.
The harpoon struck again, this time from behind, its reinforced tip punching toward the man's spine. The katana followed an instant later, sweeping low, forcing him to leap backward to avoid being bisected.
Ruumis pursued.
Each second he remained unarmed, his strikes grew heavier. His punches dented armor that should not dent, cracked the air itself when they missed. He forced the man to keep moving, to keep defending, denying him the luxury of dominance.
The longsword flashed.
A shallow cut opened across Ruumis' shoulder, blood spraying. He didn't react. He drove forward anyway, shoulder-checking the man hard enough to send both of them skidding across the ground.
Achristos tightened his control.
The katana reversed mid-flight, slashing horizontally toward the man's neck. He ducked beneath it, only for the harpoon to slam down from above, its weight magnified by the mark Achristos had placed upon it.
The impact shattered stone.
The man twisted aside at the last moment, the harpoon tearing through where his head had been. He countered with a sweeping slash that forced Ruumis back, the blade grazing his chest and drawing a line of fire across his armor.
Still, Ruumis did not draw the katana.
He stayed unarmed.
Minutes dragged on.
The fight became a brutal rhythm — Ruumis pressing close, hammering the man with bare-handed force that grew steadily more destructive, while Achristos controlled the battlefield itself. The marked weapons never stopped moving, striking from impossible angles, retreating and returning before the man could capitalize on any opening.
For the first time, the man was fully on the defensive.
Then Achristos saw it.
A fraction of a second where the man overcommitted to deflecting the harpoon, blade angled wrong, stance widened just enough.
'Now!'
Ruumis stepped forward.
He raised his hands.
Open. Empty.
The katana froze in the air behind him.
Then it flew.
It slammed into Ruumis' grip with catastrophic force, the stored power of prolonged unarmed combat detonating all at once. He brought the blade down in a single, overwhelming arc, strength compounded beyond what his Awakened state should have allowed.
The man blocked it.
The impact detonated outward, the ground collapsing beneath them as the longsword held — barely. The man was driven back several meters, boots carving trenches through stone as he slid, muscles straining under the pressure.
When it stopped, he straightened.
His smile was wide.
"To think that your Awakened Ability has such a high ceiling. Unfortunately, I don't have any use for raw power at this level. Sunless should be able to easily match — and surpass — that strength as an Ascended."
He lifted his sword slightly. Achristos grit his teeth. The two of them were definitely running on fumes when it came to Soul Essence… they wouldn't last much longer.
"Well. There's no reason to leave you two alive. That would only alarm my fath—"
He jumped back.
A red streak tore down from the sky.
The gladius fell like a meteor, blade first, slamming into the earth between them with explosive force. Heat radiated outward, the stone beneath it glowing faintly as a shockwave rippled across the clearing.
The sky darkened.
Clouds churned overhead as wind picked up suddenly, carrying the scent of ozone and scorched metal. Two figures appeared almost simultaneously, moving at speeds that made Achristos' eyes ache to follow.
The first landed lightly, posture relaxed, grey hair stirring in the rising wind. His eyes were blood-filled, gaze sharp despite the casual slant of his shoulders.
The second touched down beside him without a sound.
A blond-haired woman, her storm-blue eyes unreadable, expression flat and emotionless. Lightning flickered faintly along the clouds above her, responding to her presence.
The man with the longsword looked between them.
His smile froze.
"I wasn't aware that I was so famous around here. Would the two of you be so kind as to introduce yourselves?"
The woman stepped forward.
Her voice was calm, precise.
"I am Saint Tyris. I bring a message for the former Prince of Valor, Mordret."
The name hung heavy in the air.
"The King of Swords has no interest in a shattered blade, unable to change and evolve in any meaningful, or meaningless way. Do as you wish, but do not stand in his way… even if you have become an Emanator, you will never overcome the Path you walk."
Mordret's smile stiffened.
"Even if my father has no business with me, I have plenty of business with him."
The grey-haired man huffed.
"Whatever Mr. Daddy Issues' situation is, you're not stepping foot in the City of Preservation or the IPC's observation station ever again. Even if the way to kill you is unknown, we have methods to seal you."
Mordret tilted his head.
"Then why haven't you?"
The grey-haired man shrugged.
"Deal instead. The IPC has uses for you."
A scroll appeared in his hand, unfurling in midair, lines of text forming rapidly across its surface.
"I'm Saint Leonidas. Say you agree, and the IPC won't bother you — as long as you don't bother us. You'll also need to do this and that, but… Papa had to have taught you how to read, right?"
Mordret narrowed his eyes, reading from a distance.
Then he smiled.
"I agree."
The signature appeared.
The contract burned away.
Leonidas nodded, dismissing his gladius and turning toward Achristos and Ruumis.
"You two will be compensated for this… accident. Let's just call it mental health compensation, yeah? Come on. I'll take you to your ship. Lady Tyris?"
She nodded silently.
Behind them, Mordret vanished.
After a few seconds, Leonidas glanced skyward.
"He's left the City of Preservation. Pretty fast."
***
The ship ride back was silent.
Not the comfortable kind — not even the exhausted kind. It was the sort of silence that pressed in on the ears, that made every hum of the engines and faint vibration of the hull feel too loud. The transport moved smoothly through the air lanes, guided by automated systems that didn't care what had just happened on the ground below.
Achristos sat strapped into his seat, helmet resting in his lap.
He hadn't taken it off immediately. He'd needed a moment — needed the insulation, the muffling, the illusion that he was still someone else. Now it lay there, empty-eyed, reflecting the dim cabin lights in warped streaks.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Across from him, Ruumis stared at the floor, elbows braced on his knees, fingers interlaced so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. There was dried blood along his forearms. He hadn't wiped it off.
No one spoke.
Leonidas stood near the front of the cabin, one hand braced casually against the wall as if they were on some routine escort mission instead of what it actually was. He looked… fine. Unbothered. Like he hadn't just watched an Ascended slaughter an entire squad and casually negotiated with him afterward.
Achristos hated that.
The engines shifted pitch as the ship docked with the station. The motion jolted Achristos just enough to pull him out of his spiraling thoughts.
The hatch opened with a soft hiss.
Station personnel waited outside — medics, IPC officers, analysts with tablets already glowing in their hands. They froze when they saw who was disembarking.
Not the Saints.
Achristos and Ruumis.
The looks they got weren't pitying. They weren't horrified.
They were calculating.
Leonidas stepped off first.
"All right. Let's keep this tidy, people. Debrief later. Medical checks now."
No one argued.
Achristos barely remembered walking.
He remembered the medbay lights being too bright. Remembered being told to sit, then to stand, then to sit again. Remembered a medic pausing when she scanned his chest wound Shazi didn't fully heal, her brow furrowing just a fraction before smoothing over.
He remembered Ruumis being taken to a different bay.
That bothered him more than it should have.
They were cleared faster than expected.
No psychological screening. No containment protocols. Just a note added to their files and a quiet assurance that "follow-up assessments" would be scheduled.
Achristos knew what that meant.
Paperwork now. Damage control later.
They were escorted to temporary quarters — private this time. A courtesy. Or a precaution.
Achristos sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the opposite wall for a long time after the door sealed behind him.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Sleep came hard and fast, dragging him under to a world of dreams.
***
He woke up on time — or so he thought.
Achristos blinked, disoriented, then reached for the tablet on the bedside table. The timestamp made his jaw tighten.
Less than six hours.
He opened the message.
"MANDATORY MEETING. SAINT LEONIDAS. 0900 HOURS."
Of course.
He showered, dressed, and left the room without bothering to eat. The station corridors felt different in the daylight cycle — less frantic, more sterile. People moved with purpose, but not urgency.
They looked at him more than they should have.
Ruumis was already waiting outside the designated office when Achristos arrived. He looked… the same, mostly. A little paler. A little quieter.
They nodded to each other.
No words.
The door slid open before either of them could knock.
Leonidas' office was nothing like what Achristos had expected.
He wasn't sure what he'd expected — something grander, maybe. Something that screamed authority. Instead, the room was surprisingly modest. Wide windows looked out over the curve of the planet below, Earth's scarred surface visible through layers of atmospheric distortion. Shelves lined the walls, filled with physical books rather than data slates.
A desk sat in the center, neat but lived-in.
Leonidas stood behind it, arms crossed, gladius nowhere in sight.
"Morning. You two look like hell."
Ruumis snorted despite himself.
Achristos didn't smile.
Leonidas gestured to the chairs opposite the desk.
"Sit."
They did.
Leonidas studied them for a moment longer than was comfortable, gaze sharp but not unkind. Not probing, exactly. More… assessing.
"First things first. You're both officially listed as survivors of a Category Two Gate suppression that escalated unexpectedly due to external interference."
Achristos' jaw tightened.
"No mention of—"
"Mordret? Correct. That name does not appear in your reports. Or the name of the Master Mordret spoke of, for that matter. Only the Diamond and the Ten Stonehearts will manage information on those two."
Ruumis leaned back slightly.
"And our squad?"
Leonidas' expression shifted — just a little.
"Killed in action. Posthumously commended. Their families' been notified."
Achristos looked down at his hands.
Leonidas exhaled slowly.
"Now. Onto the part you actually care about."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out two sheets of paper, setting them on the desk and sliding them forward.
Achristos stared at them.
Promotions.
Ruumis blinked.
"…Is this a joke?"
Leonidas raised an eyebrow.
"Do I look like I joke on official paperwork?"
Ruumis picked up his sheet, eyes scanning rapidly. His expression shifted from confusion to disbelief to something quieter.
"P25? This has to be a mistake. I'm only P14…"
"It isn't."
Leonidas turned his attention to Achristos.
"Same goes for you. Promotion effective immediately. Retroactive benefits applied."
Achristos swallowed.
"I didn't—"
Leonidas interrupted:
"You survived. And you didn't break."
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk.
"That counts for more than you think."
Ruumis laughed once, sharp and humorless.
"I wasn't even close to qualifying for P25."
Leonidas shrugged.
"You are now."
Achristos frowned.
"Pulling strings?"
Leonidas smiled thinly.
"I am the strings. Besides, you survived against a Divine Aspect holder. If you know your history on the Swarm Disaster, imagine trying to survive against the Empress of Glamoth when she was a Master. I swear to Qlipoth, that woman threatened to burn the world with her army of knock-off Kamen Riders. Ah, but the Stellaron Hunter is pretty impressive. Giving me flashbacks."
That shut them both up. Of course, the question of how they never heard of a Divine Aspect holder existing echoed in their heads… but they just brushed it off as the higher-ups keeping secrets.
Just like how the purpose of the City of Preservation was a secret to those who were involved.
Leonidas straightened.
"The branch director position here is already filled. By me. This branch isn't like the others — too much attention, too many moving parts. It requires a Saint to keep the Inhuman Entity Eradication Department from eating itself."
Ruumis glanced toward the window.
"So we're stuck here."
Leonidas shook his head.
"You're free."
He tapped the papers.
"Transfer requests. Any branch. Any location with availability. Earliest relocation window is one week."
Achristos stared at the form.
He hadn't let himself imagine this seriously before.
Ruumis looked at him.
Achristos looked back.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Achristos cleared his throat.
"Are there any cohorts challenging the Second Nightmare that have open spots?"