The first thing Calvin noticed was the smell—a metallic tang of blood, sharp and lingering, cutting through the charged air. It clung to the walls, the floor, the very breath of the room, as if the space itself had been soaked in it. He crouched over the boy, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles ached.
Leximus lay curled on the cold stone floor like a broken marionette, dark blood streaking from his eyes, nose, and mouth, seeping into the intricate symbols etched into the stone. The air was heavy, electric, as if a storm had just passed and left the room trembling in its wake.
Calvin's gaze flicked to Sirius. The man stood calm, casual even, inspecting a splash of black, viscous goo on the wall as though it were a painting in a gallery. "What… happened here?" Calvin's voice was rough, brittle with tension.
Sirius didn't meet his eyes. "An unexpected result. Help me get him to a cot."
Calvin's instincts screamed. A breach. A catastrophe waiting to ignite. The rational choice—eliminate the threat—clashed with the sight of the child. Small. Vulnerable. Fractured, but still just a boy.
With a frustrated grunt, he slammed his sword into its sheath. The echo bounced off the walls, hollow and accusatory. He knelt, joints protesting, and carefully turned Leximus over. The boy was frighteningly light, fragile, as though bound by nothing but sheer will.
In the hallway, Rylan and Liam waited, pale faces bathed in dim lantern light. "The ritual room…" Calvin's voice was tight. "Full procedure. That black liquid is concentrated Ether—don't let it touch your skin."
Without a word, he carried Leximus down the hall. Every step drummed with dread. He laid the boy on a cot in the nearest sleeping quarters. His clean clothes, pristine hours ago, were ruined. Calvin lingered, watching the uneven rise and fall of Leximus' chest, before stepping away, the weight of the moment pressing down like a stone. Memories of purple flames licking walls, shadows twisting and bending reality, burned in his mind.
The office was tense when he entered. Sirius stood behind the mahogany desk, swirling amber liquid in a glass. Larry from Tactical, massive and silent, dominated one side of the room, arms crossed. Samantha from Intelligence sat poised on the old green sofa, eyes calculating.
"The whole building felt that, Sirius," Larry said, low and rumbling. "My men thought we were under attack. That was no ordinary awakening."
Sirius sipped slowly. "It was an experiment. And a successful one."
Samantha's voice cut the thick air. "According to the readings, it should have been a wraith manifestation. Instead… an unconscious boy. Explain this discrepancy."
All eyes turned to Calvin, who leaned against the doorframe. "He's stable. Breathing. No signs of corruption… not yet, anyway." His words sounded hollow even to himself.
Larry's glare returned to Sirius. "Why is he still alive? The risk—"
"The opportunity," Sirius interrupted, smooth, deliberate. He set the glass down with a soft click. "Let me be clear. I didn't just find this boy. I engineered his compliance. Gave him just enough power to ignite hunger. Revealed enough to spark curiosity—and then… nothing. I told him he'd understand only after joining. Grief, vengeance… that fracture becomes the final component of the ritual."
"He's not a subject. He's a boy," Calvin said, voice taut with bitter restraint.
"He's both," Sirius whispered, leaning forward. Eyes glinting. "We fight a war. Every tool is valid. Their own pain becomes the weapon. And if the tool breaks…" He made a gun with his fingers, tapping his temple. "…it wouldn't be the first time we've disposed of children."
The room fell silent. Calvin's mind drifted to ghosts of the past—other disposals, other moments of moral compromise. He looked away, unable to meet anyone's eyes.
Larry grunted and left, the air thick with the absence of his presence. Samantha followed, her gaze sharp, calculating, lingering on Sirius before the door closed softly behind her.
Calvin lingered a moment, words of protest poised but unspoken. Finally, he shook his head and left, the weight of cold calculus pressing on him like a vise.
Alone, Sirius allowed himself a thin, satisfied smile. He picked up the glass again, swirling the amber liquid. "A perfect tool," he murmured to the empty room. "And he will never know who holds the leash."
Back in the ritual chamber, Liam wrinkled his nose at the black goo. "This smells… awful. Like lightning and rot."
"Just clean it," Rylan said, voice low, tight with unease. The air itself felt wrong, thick with residual Ether. Every hair on his arms stood on end. "Don't let it touch your skin."
Hours later, they returned to ordinary clothing. Comfortable. Safe. Mundane. The act of shedding the ritual garb felt like stepping back onto solid ground after a nightmare storm.
They checked on Leximus. In the dim quiet of the sleeping quarters, he seemed ordinary—pale, exhausted, almost human.
"You think he'll be alright?" Liam whispered.
Before Rylan could answer, the boy's eyes snapped open.
Not human. Obsidian whites, pupils glowing faint purple. He sat up abruptly, hand stretching as if grasping something unseen. A single tear traced through dried blood on his cheek.
His gaze turned toward them, piercing, unrelenting. It did not merely see—it remembered, sensed, judged. Something ancient, dark, and far beyond comprehension stirred in that gaze.
"Where…?" he rasped, voice trembling. "The hands… they were pulling me down…"
Rylan and Liam exchanged a wide-eyed glance. This was beyond their understanding. His new clothes, ruined, were soaked with blood and a dark shimmer that seemed almost alive.
"Maybe… we should get Calvin," Liam whispered.
Rylan shook his head, frozen. He couldn't look away. Leximus' eyes were not just seeing—they were already wielding something terrifying. Something that no human should hold