The sunlight clung to him like oil.
He didn't like it.
The way it laid across his shoulders. The way it found every corner of his shadow and burned it back. He hadn't realized how long he'd been out until the warmth turned to weight, and then the weight turned to fatigue.
Juno walked like he always did—slow, unbothered—but under that careful stillness was a growing irritation.
'Light's a parasite,' he thought with a faint scowl, adjusting his collar higher to block the sun. 'No wonder everyone in this city looks dry and dead.'
He felt it with every step. The dull drain across his skin. The slow siphon of his energy—barely noticeable at first, but over time, it added up. He wasn't built for light. Not like this. His strength lived in darker places.
So when the buildings grew taller around him, casting longer shadows across the cobbled streets, he sighed in relief.
Shade.
Finally.
The city was quieter here—less foot traffic, fewer eyes. He'd wandered into the older quarter without even realizing it. The roads narrowed. Stone replaced polished walkways. No more music or chatter from cafes or carts. Just the hush of wind between towers and banners that hung like dying cloth from leaning spires.
Juno stepped into an alley blanketed in full shade, exhaled once, and disappeared.
There was no burst of smoke, no flash. Just—gone.
The shadow beneath him rippled like water, and his body folded inward as if being devoured by the dark. A beat passed. The alley returned to stillness.
He emerged a breath later.
Right in front of the Dark Tower.
From nowhere.
The shadows at the foot of the massive gate peeled back like curtains, and Juno stepped through them, boots clicking lightly on obsidian tile. No one saw him arrive. Or if they did, they said nothing.
The tower loomed overhead like a nightmare's spine, higher than he'd remembered from street level. Every inch of it was smooth, almost mirror-like—but it wasn't stone. He'd assumed from afar it was some kind of black marble, or obsidian maybe, but up close it was something else entirely. Not metal. Not glass. Something that shimmered wrong under the light, something that breathed almost. The surface seemed to shift subtly beneath his gaze, as if rejecting being named.
'What the hell is this tower made of?' he thought, narrowing his eyes.
Two guards stood at the front entrance. Armor pitch-black, no insignia. No expressions. They looked like they hadn't moved in years, though Juno was sure they were very much alive.
He walked up to them casually.
"I need a blacksmith," he said flatly.
The guards looked down at him—silent. Unblinking.
Juno stared back, waiting. One second. Two.
Then his scowl deepened. 'Would be easier to kill them,' he thought, a small flicker of annoyance crossing his face.
But he didn't.
He just turned on his heel and walked away, past them, as if their uselessness wasn't worth any more thought. They didn't move to stop him.
The massive gate before him bore no handle or knock. It was shaped like two teeth, sealed tightly. He lifted a hand—and the moment his fingertips neared the surface, it began to shift.
Not open.
Shift.
The tower reacted to him.
A low, grinding sound echoed as the seam split, widening just enough to allow him through. A thin mist slithered out from the crack like breath.
He took one step forward—then paused.
His reflection stared back at him in the dark sheen of the gate. Small. Young. Tired-eyed.
And calm.
He tilted his head at himself, one corner of his mouth twitching. 'Not gonna waste energy this time. This time, we build right.'
Then he stepped inside.
And the door closed behind him, like a mouth sealing shut.
…
…
…
Far across the city, beneath the sprawling shadow of the massive tower that loomed like a monolith over the skyline, the dark swallowed him again—but in a very different way.
The guards were shouting again—louder now, angrier. Bloodied and bruised, several of them surged forward, racing down the narrow hall.
Niko didn't wait.
His hands snapped upward.
FWIP!
The tendrils—energy twisted into translucent, pulsing cords—shot out from his palms like wild veins. They cracked into the stone walls with a sound like splitting leather and immediately stuck. His feet lifted off the ground.
Niko grinned.
"Energy tendrils."
He liked the name. A little on the nose, sure—but it had flair.
With a yank, the cords retracted, slinging him down the hallway like a human pendulum. His boots barely grazed the ground before he was flying again—ricocheting off the walls in a weaving escape, every twist and pull keeping him ahead of the recovering guards.
"STOP RUNNING, YOU LITTLE RAT!" one of them screamed.
"GET BACK HERE AND DIE WITH DIGNITY!"
Niko cackled mid-swing. "You first! I'll even send flowers!"
He flipped midair, using the cords to whip around a bend in the corridor. The speed was dizzying. The rush, intoxicating. But under it all—buzzing at the back of his skull—was a creeping weight.
Burnout.
He could feel it gnawing at the edge of his muscles, crawling up his spine like frost. Ten minutes of paralysis if he pushed too hard. Death, basically. He'd already burned through most of his energy—Blitz, the crash, the tendrils—
Maybe 10% left. Max.
He could hear the pounding boots behind him again. Getting closer.
"Alright," Niko muttered, zipping around another corner. "Plan B."
He stopped using the tendrils to swing and instead began anchoring them—latching onto wall after wall and building tension in the cords like rubber bands.
He braced himself, eyes flicking ahead to a clear stretch of hallway. A perfect shot.
"Alright, Niko… you've watched spiders. You've seen slingshots. Now it's time to become the world's first hyperactive energy-powered idiot missile."
He exhaled once.
"Let's give this a try."
And then—he released.
The tendrils snapped backward. Niko shot forward like a rocket, eyes wide, wind howling past him. A blur of blue-white energy trailed behind him like comet smoke.
Behind him, the guards skidded to a stop, blinking in disbelief.
"Did he just—?"
"Was that a slingshot?"
"WHO EVEN FIGHTS LIKE THAT?!"