The Blackwood Vanguard's Research Division was located in the deepest, most sterile level of the compound. The air here didn't smell of sweat and ozone, but of antiseptic and humming machinery. The silence was profound, broken only by the faint whir of climate control and the occasional, soft chime of a monitoring device. It was a place designed to dissect secrets, and I was its newest specimen.
I was led into a stark white room by a technician whose aura was a bland, scholarly [Data Analysis (C-Rank)]. In the center stood a chair that looked more like a throne of wires and sensors. Behind a transparent, reinforced observation window, I could see the silhouettes of several people, including the sharp, unmistakable profile of Lieutenant Valeriana. She was here to watch.
"Subject Grey, please be seated," the technician said, his voice devoid of inflection.
As I sat, cold gel-pads adhered to my temples and wrists. Wires snaked out, connecting me to banks of flickering consoles. This was it. The moment of truth. Could their machines see what Valeriana's mana probe could not? Could they detect the golden core of the [Eye of the Mimic] or the shimmering lattice of the [Mana Core Circuit]?
I took a deep, centering breath and focused everything I had on my mental fortress. I envisioned my F-Rank mana channels as shallow, empty ditches. I pictured my physical stats as bare, unremarkable numbers. And I buried my true power deep, beneath layers of psychic static and the newly acquired, faintly chaotic signature of the [Mental Shroud].
"Initiating baseline scan," the technician announced.
A wave of energy, far more sophisticated and penetrating than Valeriana's probe, washed over me. It was a cold, clinical light that sought to map every fiber of my being. I felt it slide over my mental walls, probing for weaknesses. My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs, but I forced my breathing to remain even.
The scanners saw the ditches. They saw the unremarkable numbers. But they also saw the "cracks" I had carefully constructed—the anomalous sensory pathways, the erratic neural activity around my visual cortex that I attributed to my [Analytical Combat Sight], and the faint, corrupted resonance of the Whispering Chasm that clung to me like psychic dust.
"Fascinating," a new voice murmured over the intercom. An older, reedy voice. Head Researcher Arcturus. "The subject's neural pathways are... rewired. There's a hyper-developed pattern recognition module here, interfacing directly with his mana-sensing nodes. It's as if his brain built its own secondary processor to compensate for his deficient core."
He was creating the narrative for me, just as Valeriana had. He was seeing the shadow my power cast and mistaking it for the substance.
"Now, Subject Grey," Arcturus continued, "we will test the limits of this processor. We will project simulated mana signatures. You will identify them."
The room darkened. Holographic projectors flickered to life, casting illusions into the space before me. A shimmering, blue [Water Shield]. A roaring, red [Fireball]. A complex, green [Nature's Entanglement].
My [Eye of the Mimic] chimed instantly for each one, but I ignored the replication prompts. Instead, I focused on my role. I described them, my voice a monotone. "Defensive, water-aspected, moderate stability... Offensive, fire-aspected, high volatility... Control, nature-aspected, area-of-effect..."
I was perfect. A flawless sensor. I even added a slight delay and a hint of uncertainty on the more complex signatures, playing the part of someone relying on "gut feeling" rather than absolute knowledge.
Then, the test changed.
A new signature flared to life. It was dark, purple, and twisted—a perfect replica of the corrupted mana from the Whispering Chasm. But it was different. It felt... hungry. Malevolent in a way the geode's mana had not been.
"This is a theoretical construct," Arcturus explained. "A projected high-level corruption signature. Analyze it."
I focused my [Mana Sense] on it, and a jolt of genuine, icy fear shot through me. This wasn't just a simulation. There was a presence in that mana. A cold, alien intelligence that seemed to look back at me.
[WARNING: Psionic Contaminant Detected.]
[Passive Skill: Mental Shroud (A-Rank) is actively repelling foreign influence.]
The [Mental Shroud] I had replicated was acting on its own, shielding my mind. But the scanner monitors behind the window suddenly blared an alarm.
"Extraordinary!" Arcturus's voice was filled with a terrifying glee. "Did you see that? His neural activity spiked, and an unidentified dampening field manifested around his consciousness! He's not just sensing it; he's resisting it!"
They had tricked me. They hadn't just wanted to test my senses; they wanted to trigger my defenses. They were poking the anomaly with a stick to see if it would bite.
"Subject Grey," Arcturus's voice turned sharper, more demanding. "How did you do that? How did you generate that psychic dampener?"
"I... I don't know," I stammered, the fear in my voice now entirely real. "It just felt... wrong. My head hurt, and I just... pushed back."
It was the only answer I could give. The truth was a door I could not open.
The scans continued for another hour, but the researchers had found their prize. They had confirmed that my anomaly wasn't just passive; it was reactive. It was defensive. I was not just a sensor; I was a potential counter-measure.
When I was finally released, my body was trembling with a mixture of relief and terror. I had passed the test without revealing my core secret, but I had also shown them a new, valuable facet of my strangeness. I was being fitted with a leash, one woven from their own scientific curiosity.
As I left the sterile confines of the Research Division and stepped back into the gritty hallways of the main compound, a familiar, hate-filled aura washed over me. Jax was leaning against a wall, waiting.
"Well, well. The lab rat is free," he sneered, pushing himself off the wall. His [Brawler's Resilience] flared, a dull, aggressive thrum in the confined space. "Did they figure out what kind of freak you are?"
I looked at him, and for the first time, I didn't see just a bully. I saw a target. A source of data. And a threat that needed to be managed.
Quietly, almost instinctively, I reached for the new, unsettling power I had acquired. I focused on the brand of his resentment, the unique signature of his fury that I had intimately analyzed. I pushed a sliver of my will, wrapped in the subtle energy of the [Soul Brand], towards him.
It was like casting a silent, invisible fishing line. The hook settled deep into the fabric of his malice.
[Soul Brand successfully applied to target: Jax.]
[Status: Active. Tracking... Hostility Level: High.]
Jax flinched, almost imperceptibly. He shook his head as if swatting away a fly, his sneer faltering for a second. He didn't know what had happened, but he felt it—a vague, unsettling sense of being watched, of being known.
"Watch your back, anomaly," he growled, the bravado in his voice slightly forced now. He turned and stalked away, but I could still feel him. I could feel the simmering heat of his anger, the direction of his movement, the very rhythm of his hostile intent.
I stood alone in the hallway, the phantom of the compound, now holding the leash to my most immediate enemy. The laboratory had tried to put a leash on me, but in doing so, they had only given me the tools to weave my own. The road to lordhood was paved with hidden battles, and I had just won a silent, crucial one.