Axel gasped, eyes flaring open.
His whole body jerked before a sharp, flaring pain from his side forced him still. He sank back into the embrace of the mattress, breath ragged, every heartbeat echoing in his ribs.
He shook his head, the nightmare again, it hadn't been up to a day.
A faint hum filled the air.
He blinked, scanning the dim room. The faint, bluish light from a screen flickered against pale walls. A small TV across the bed played Tom and Jerry, the sound low, laugh tracks muffled under the rhythmic buzz of an air vent.
He was lying on a bed, blue sheets, crisp. Bandages wrapped his left hand and torso, tight enough that he could feel his pulse beneath them. The faint smell of antiseptic stung his nose, mixed with the faint tang of metal.
Where… am I?
His gaze darted to the right. A chair. A sunken sofa, the seat still dented as if someone had just left it. A book on the armrest.
And the katana leaning against the chair.
A flicker of unease crawled up his spine.
He slowly tried to push himself up. Pain surged instantly, a reminder of what happened,the black-haired man, the stickmen, the white-haired man, the chains, all flashing back. His pulse spiked.
Did I get kidnapped?
He tried again, slower this time, wincing.
"You should rest," a calm voice came from the corridor.
Axel froze and gulped hard.
A figure stepped from the shadows—a man of slight build, maybe five-six, lean but balanced, like every motion was measured. His white hair caught the TV's light, silver gleaming across the strands.
There was something unsettling about him, his composure too steady, too deliberate, his eyes too still and sunken. His face lacked any hint of emotion.
Axel's pulse hammered.
He scanned the man's hands, searching for those chains, but only a small silver bracelet hung from his right wrist, faintly glinting.
He tried to move anyway, to sit up, ignoring the man, but his arm gave out. "Tch," he hissed as he fell back, jaw clenched. Still, his eyes never left the man.
He could've killed me anytime, he thought. If he wanted me dead, I'd be gone. Still… he kept his guard up, though he knew he couldn't really do much, nothing really, not in this situation.
The man walked to the sofa, calm as ever, and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. "You're hurt pretty bad," he said. "A few of your ribs are broken. I'd advise against moving too much, you might puncture a lung."
His tone was so casual it almost sounded like a lecture.
Axel swallowed. "If it's that bad, why not take me to a hospital?"
"They'd ask too many questions," the man replied. "But if you don't believe me, be my guest."
Axel stared at him, suspicion rising — 'Ask too many questions,' huh?, then he sighed, although it'll be pretty hard to explain what happened to him, 'he was beaten blue black by stickmen', I can see how that'll turn out, he looked toward the ceiling fan turning slowly above. Even he knew how bad it was. But still— "I need proper health care."
"I've arranged for that," the man said, glancing at his wristwatch.
"Right," Axel muttered. "Well, hurry." His eyes drifted to the katana again.
The man noticed. "You don't know what that is, do you?" he asked quietly.
Axel's gaze lingered. "I'm guessing it's not just an anime prop," he murmured.
The man's lips curved slightly, something between a smirk and a sigh. He was about to speak when Axel cut in, "Wait—who are you?"
Silence stretched.
Then, finally, "I'm Serif," he said. "That's all you need to know."
Axel frowned. Serif? What kind of name is that, like the font? Suspicious as hell. He opened his mouth to push further, but Serif beat him to it.
"It's an anima," he said. "The keeper."
Anima. That word again. Axel's mind flashed back to the black-haired man.
"What's an anima?" he asked.
Serif leaned back, expression unreadable. "Anima are weapons… no, things, crafted from a metal called Zvezdan. It grants abilities to those compatible with the anima."
Axel blinked, His skepticism wavered, he wanted to reject that idea, but what he had experienced in the past day…
unreal, but that's the only thing that made sense at this point.
"What's Zvezdan?" he asked, moving on.
"A metal," Serif said simply.
Axel frowned. "If something like that existed, why isn't it all over the news?"
Serif's eyes shifted to him, steady, cold, he leaned back, "Because anima users control the world, of course."
For a second, the room seemed to tilt.
The air felt heavier. The hum of the vent louder.
"Control… the world?" Axel repeated, voice low, contemplating what those words implied. "Like, governments? Military?"
Serif gave a small, almost dismissive shrug. "Not in the way you think. They regulate it. Protect it from itself. And…" he stopped.
"And what?" Axel pressed.
"Nothing. For now, you can only ask about anima."
"How about 'regulate it,' then?" Axel asked, but Serif had already picked up his book again, flipping through the pages as if the conversation was over.
Axel stared at him, jaw tight. His initial wariness had faded—replaced with something else. Curiosity, unease. The kind that burrows under your skin, frustrating, and it doesn't help that he's hiding something.
Figures. But… at least he's talking about the so called anima.
"So, do anima give powers, or are they the powers, or are the powers what you call anima?" Axel asked, half-aware it sounded dumb. "Like, what exactly are they?"
Serif lowered the book. "Both. They can grant abilities directly or channel them through themselves. They could be conduits, extensions of the user and his ability."
He paused. "Take a hammer anima that grants strength. Its user might retain that strength even without holding the hammer, doing things no human could."
Axel nodded slowly. "So it gives him strength, without it being dependent on contact with the hammer ."
"Exactly." Serif gestured toward his wrist.
Based on that there should be a sort of spiritual link between user and anima then.
"Zoran, the man you fought, is an example. Mine," he lifted his hand the chain bracelet shifting, "does both. It can act as a conduit, but I don't necessarily require it to use its ability, although it also grants the ability to control the chains itself."
Then Serif calmly stood up, turned toward the wall, and drew back his fist.
"Also," he said, "anima grants every user enhanced physical capability."
He struck.
The impact thundered through the room.
A hole tore through the plaster, revealing the bathroom tiles beyond. Dust trickled down the edges.
Axel stared, wide-eyed, at the broken wall.
"This isn't a hotel, is it?"
"It is," Serif said flatly. Then his eyes widened, and he coughed into his hand, looking away as if the hole didn't exist, sitting back down.
Show off, Axel exhaled, gaze drifting back to the katana.
He's hiding a lot. But at least I know a bit more now.
Still… how the hell did that thing end up with me?
"If anima are that secret," Axel asked, "how did one end up on Omnicart?"
Serif paused. Lowered the book again. His tone was calm, but softer—almost thoughtful.
The hum of the vent filled the silence again, heavier this time, anticipation building up.
"As I said… it's one of a kind." He met Axel's eyes. "You were just one of its stops. In other words, it chose you."