Blood.
Not his own—never his own.
Ain's hands moved without thought, without hesitation. A blade, an axe, a spear? or were they claws? —tore through armor like paper. A woman's scream cutting short.
He didn't recognize her face. Only the insatiable drive to...
Kill. All.
The words weren't his. The thoughts weren't his. But his body obeyed anyway.
Another figure rushed toward him. Familiar uniform. Friendly colors. It didn't matter.
His fist connected. Bones and flesh punctured through the man's chest.
The battlefield was endless. Bodies piled at his feet—some twisted and wrong, eldritch things that had no right to exist. But others... others wore human faces. Spoke human languages. Reached toward him with human hands.
He killed them all the same.
Next.
"Ain, stop! It's me—"
A familiar voice called out.
However.
His hand was already moving. Fingers wrapped around a throat. Squeezing.
Wide eyes stared up at him. Terrified. Betrayed.
"Please..."
He wanted to stop. Wanted to let go. Wanted to scream that this wasn't him, wasn't him—
But his grip only tightened.
The light faded from those eyes.
Something him inside... laughed. Wicked. Maniacal.
Ain bolted upright, eyes wide, gasping.
Sweat soaked through his hospital pajamas. His hands shook—no, his whole body shook. The room spun for a moment before his vision cleared.
White walls. Sterile. A soft hum of machinery. Dim lighting.
Not a battlefield. Not covered in blood.
Just a dream.
He pressed both palms against his face, fingers digging into his temples. His heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
Just a dream.
But he could still feel it—the phantom sensation of bone breaking under his hands. The weight of a body going slack. That terrible, alien satisfaction that wasn't his but lived inside him anyway.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his breathing to steady.
The room came into focus properly now. A monitoring station in the corner, displays showing vitals he assumed were his. A single door, sealed. No windows.
A small digital display on the wall read: 0347 HOURS - DAY 2, MONTH 8, YEAR 3947
A soft chime suddenly echoed through the room. The door's lock disengaging with a hiss.
Ain straightened, wiping the sweat from his face, and waited.
Moments later, a woman with silver hair entered the room.
Ain squinted slightly—and for the briefest of moments, the figure in the doorway flickered. Silver hair catching the light. A familiar silhouette. His breath caught.
Then the woman stepped closer, and the illusion shattered.
A lab coat and a tablet in hand—greeting him with a warm, gentle smile.
"You're awake." Her voice was soft as she approached his bed. "How are you feeling?"
Ain blinked, steadying himself. "You're... Aria."
"You remembered! That's good—means your memory's working fine, at least."
She hesitated for just a moment before moving around to the side of his bed—fidgeting with the tablet in her hands. "Sorry about knocking you out like that, by the way."
"I know the timing was awful but... given the things we know about you, Captain Sonia said we couldn't risk it. I just—" She paused, finally meeting his eyes. "I hope you understand."
"It's fine," Ain replied almost automatically. "You did what you had to do."
Aria's face brightened.
Ain looked around the room. "Where is she anyway?"
Before Aria could respond, a figure emerged from the shadow cast by the door—then, a spark, a cigarette being ignited. "Here."
Aria stumbled slightly in surprise, pressing the tablet close to her chest. "C-captain! You surprised me!"
Sonia pushed herself off against the wall to approach Ain, clearly dismissive of Aria's startled reaction—almost as if it was a normal occurrence for them.
She eyed him with wary, almost suspicious scrutiny.
Silence stretched briefly—then she reached out for a chair, the hard metal scraping loudly against the floor.
Taking a seat, she spoke finally, "Talk."
Not an order, not a request, but a demand that left no room for argument.
Aria, on the other end of the bed, argued against her Captain's decisiveness.
"Captain! He just woke up. After being in stasis for so long, we should let him recover."
Sonia's brow furrowed slightly, her voice turning sharp. "You're joking. We lost two of our squad members rescuing him."
"B-but, the High Enclave has taken jurisdiction over him... We can't just do as we please."
Sonia's expression twisted into barely-restrained rage. "Damn the High Enclave! I'm not about to let them whisk him away to some godforsaken place before I could have my answers."
She grabbed Ain's collar. "Talk! Who are you? And why were you in that place?! What's so special about you that high command had to sacrifice two of my girls to pull you out?!"
Ain looked away, unable to meet her eyes.
Finally, he spoke. "I'm sorry."
"Tch. Can't even get a straight answer."
She released his collar with a sharp tug, dropping back to her seat, legs crossed.
She pulled out her gun and laid it across her lap. "Here's what we're gonna do. You're going to tell me everything about you—your past, your history, everything!"
She undid the safety—nail clicking on the pistol impatiently. "Or I shoot you. Again. And again. And again. Until you start talking."
"C-captain! You can't just—"
"Shut up!"
Sonia scoffed, almost mocking—then snatched the tablet from Aria's hands and swiped to relevant information about Ain.
"It says here in the files you're immortal..." The word sounded bitter in her mouth—one half believing it, one half not.
She raised the pistol, leveling it at his chest. A low, sadistic smile formed on her lips. "Let's test that, shall we?"
Slowly, Ain tilted his head to meet Sonia's eyes. His own dark as the night sky—almost like an empty void.
"Fine." He said finally—tone distant, detached.
Ain spoke. His past, his origin—the Threshold Program that had tried to weaponize eldritch contamination. The experiment that went wrong. His voice remained flat, clinical—as he described centuries spent as a living weapon: deployed, killed, awakening to carnage, repeat.
Aria and Sonia listened, occasionally referencing details from his files. The contamination markers in his biology. The documented deployments. Deaths that stretched into tens of thousands. Most of it matched. Some details—the entity's intelligence, the memory gaps—weren't in any report.
When Ain finished, he asked what he'd missed.
They talked for hours. Aria's gentle explanations, Sonia's blunt interjections. Four hundred seventy-two years collapsed into a single conversation: humanity's slow clawback from the brink, the evolution of augmentation science, the all-female military that had reclaimed forty percent of Earth. The procedures that had broken him now created warriors with precision and reliability. Everyone he'd known was dust. The bases, the commanders, the squads—all gone.
By the end, Ain understood: the world had moved on without him.
"I believe you... for now." Sonia holstered her weapon but didn't soften. "Two of my girls are still dead because of you. Don't you forget that."
"I never do. I can't..."
His thoughts flickered to visions of him killing his own people—visions in all manners of grotesque, further adding fuel to his growing and unending misery.
Aria sensed this. Born with an affinity to perceive emotional states through the flow of Eid that surrounds living things, it made her exceptionally adept at understanding people's psyche—and for her, Ain's was like a beacon of writhing, unfathomable darkness.
Part of her feared it, even revulsed by the sheer depth of it, but a larger part of her felt only remorse—and a deep, abiding compassion toward him.
"How long has he been like this?",
"How many people...?",
"What did he experienced to get to this... state?"
She wanted to ask him. Wanted to comfort him. But faced with the depth of that darkness, she simply remained quiet.
Ain approached the table with clothes already neatly folded on top—as he reached out for the shirt, an unbidden memory resurfaced.
Ain held a hand over his head as he steadied himself—dull aches tremored across his mind.
A concerned Aria approached him. "Are you okay?" She asked, extending a hand.
"DON'T!" He slapped her hand away, a warning. "I'm fine... I just..."
Still concerned, she reluctantly retreated her hand.
Ain's eyes squinted. Closing. When he opened them finally, the clothes on the table had become smeared in blood.
Then, he looked down.
Someone was crawling up his feet—eyes lifeless, hollowed, and streaks of blood running down its cheeks.
"A-ain... why...?"
Slowly, the figure extended its hand—bloodied fingers reaching up his face.
The person crept higher...
And higher.
Until finally, both hands found Ain's throat.
It was then Ain finally recognized the person in front of him—a brother-in-arms from before.
"Ram—?!"
The words died in his throat as the man suddenly tightened its grip around his neck—restricting air flow.
"YOU DID THIS TO ME! TO US!"
The floor beneath Ain's feet transformed into a pile of dismembered bodies—each one no different than the last and slowly being consumed by the rising pool of blood.
Teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, unknown strength surged from within him, and he retaliated.
He reached out for the man's throat with both hands—fingers wrapped around the column like a vise until he was brought to his knees.
He could feel the soft tissue beginning to buckle as his grip tightened—could feel the man's desperate attempts of resistance.
It was then that Ain heard it. Faintly at first—as well as a pulling pressure from his back, gradually growing stronger.
"Ain..."
Slowly, the fog in his eyes began to clear...
And what he saw wasn't the man he'd grabbed—it was Aria, on her knees, barely conscious, tears in her eyes, and struggling to breathe.
Ain's grip tightened involuntarily—an old instinct, older than memory, firing before conscious thought returned.
"AIN!"
Ain's body finally went lax, allowing Sonia to spin him around—her hands found purchase on his shoulders and kicked, freeing Aria from his grip.
Ain staggered backwards.
Without hesitation, without missing a breath, Sonia fired her pistol in quick succession.
Three shots center mass, pinning Ain against the wall.
Two more—high on each shoulder that rendered his arms useless.
Sonia closed the distance between them in an instant—forearm across his neck, pistol primed at his skull.
"What did I...?" Ain murmured softly. Fear and shock etched on his face.
"You tell me, you bastard." Sonia growled, further pushing the pistol barrel against his head.
"I-I..."
The door hissed open. Footsteps. Heavy and measured entered the room.
"Stand down, soldier." A voice called out from behind them. Feminine, but exuding an authority that demanded immediate attention.
Two figures—guards, stood behind her.
The woman wore a mask with a symbol on the middle, the back, open to reveal her long, crimson hair—her military uniform a blend between formal and battle attire.
"General..." Sonia looked at the woman behind her, then back to Ain. "He almost killed Aria! He's dangerous!"
"I said, Stand. Down."
Sonia's finger tightened on the trigger—jaw clenched, the order ringing in her head.
The woman took two steps, said two words, but it was enough. Sonia had already extracted herself away from Ain.
The crimson-haired woman approached him—gaze raking over his body as if inspecting.
Then, she whispered—barely audible, and a hint of longing in her voice. "You're alive..."
Ain's brow furrowed slightly.
She knew him.
However, just as quickly, the woman suddenly pulled back—her voice gaining back its strength.
"The Elder Council demands your presence. Make yourself presentable."
The woman, still with her hands behind her, walked toward the door.
But just before leaving, she turned over shoulder.
"Letum Ridemus."
She muttered softly, almost a chant—almost as if the words themselves were carried directly to his ears, and his ears alone.
Ain recognized those words somewhere, from someone... However, try as he might, the memories remain fragmented—faces blurry, voices breaking inaudibly, like someone, or something... is actively suppressing his memories.
His eyes eventually fell to the still-struggling Aria. And his priorities shifted.
He immediately walked toward her and knelt down. "Aria... I'm sorry..."
"I-It's okay. I know... you didn't mean it. I'll be fine." She placed one hand around her neck—the soft hum of Eid activating; dim, green light emanating from her fingertips.
In an instant, her breathing returned to normal, the pain gone. However, the bruise from where Ain had grabbed her still lingered.
Ain noticed.
And slowly, he stretched out his hand.
Sonia grabbed his wrist mid-reach, voice thick with venom.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I can help."
"The hell you can. You almost killed her!"
"Captain... It's fine. I trust him." Aria scooted closer to Ain, raising her chin slightly to expose her neck.
"Sonia?" Ain breathe, her name a plea and a request at the same time.
"Tsk!" Sonia hesitated but eventually released her grip.
Gently, Ain placed his hand against Aria's neck, checking the damage.
She tensed slightly at the contact but didn't pull away.
Before anyone could react, Ain bit down on his thumb until blood began to drip.
He pressed it against the bruised skin in a soft caress
Slowly, impossibly, the discoloration began to fade. The blood seemed to absorb into her skin, and with it, the bruising disappeared.
Sonia stared, eyes wide—this isn't a form of healing they've grown accustomed to using.
This was something else entirely.
"W-what the hell are you...?"
"Even I don't know myself." Ain pondered as he stood up.
Aria touched her unblemished neck, still feeling the ghost of his touch, the soft caress of his blood. But beneath it, she'd also sensed something else—something resembling "good"... and she felt relieved.
"Get cleaned up," Sonia ordered, holstering her weapon. "The Elders don't like to wait."
Ain nodded.
As both women were about to leave, Aria paused, turning back to look at him.
"Ain... Thank you." She said, smiling softly.
Ain smiled lightly in return. A rare display of tenderness.
The door hissed shut behind them, and he felt somewhat... content. Part of it was the relief of solitude—but a deeper, quieter part of him resonated with something else entirely. Like a small ray of light amidst the ever-encompassing darkness—a light that he thought had long been extinguished.
As Ain approached a mirror, he contemplated the earlier events.
The "thing" inside him slipped out—something that had never happened before. How he almost killed his savior. The crimson-haired woman's words.
He shook his head—clearing his thoughts. He needs to prepare.
Then.
His reflection blurred—the edges of his face unraveling like smoke. What emerged wasn't him. But a reflection of complete and utter horror.
Tendrils writhed where his features should be. Rows of needle-sharp teeth spiraled inward, ring after ring, forming a tunnel of bone-white daggers. At the center, a fiery-blue eye—vast, iridescent, and utterly alien—fixed itself upon him with the weight of eons. The pupil dilated, contracting, as if studying him from the other side of the glass.
Ain froze. But only for a moment.
Rage surged through him—raw and desperate.
His fist connected with the mirror. Glass exploded outward, shards scattering across the floor. The reflection shattered into a hundred fragments.
Ain pulled back, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding.
The shards lay scattered across the floor. Still. Silent.
He turned toward the door.
Behind him—too quiet to hear, too subtle to see—an eye opened within one of the fragments. Watching. Waiting.
Then... closing.