The polished chrome interior of the Vanguard Bureau headquarters shimmered, a stark contrast to the chaos that had been narrowly averted hours before. Pulse, sat slumped against the reinforced wall of a waiting area, his full-body light armor momentarily deactivated, revealing the dark, utilitarian fabric beneath. Beside him, Crystara, leaned back with an air of practiced boredom, her exposed midriff catching the overhead light.
Pulse sighed, running a hand over the smooth, synthetic fibers of his armored sleeve. "What's the room number of Revara and her family again? My brain's still vibrating from that last job."
Crystara didn't bother to open her eyes. "Fifteenth floor, A18. Try to keep up, Pulse."
A high-pitched, melodic laugh drew their attention. Celestial Muse, emerged from the nearby office. She stopped, radiating confidence and allure, though a disciplined exhaustion lingered around her eyes.
"Well, good work on securing Revara," Muse said, adjusting a delicate calibration device on her wrist. "But like I said earlier before everything went to... a complete mess. You both will live beside the apartment of Revara and her family. I need eyes on them twenty-four/seven for the foreseeable future."
She gave them a strict look that brooked no argument. "If both of you thought of going to other worlds, I would like you both to inform me first in advance so I could assign someone else to guard Revara and her family. Consider yourselves permanent neighborhood watch."
Pulse and Crystara nodded in unison. "Noted, ma'am Muse," Pulse affirmed, trying to sound suitably professional.
Muse smiled a tight, almost maternal smile, a surprising contrast to her usual intimidating presence. She stepped closer, reaching out to pat the top of Pulse's covered head. "Try working on your words, Pulse. Find a little inflection. Well then, I'm off for now. I have a lot to work on after the recent incidents. The paperwork alone could collapse a lesser bureau."
"Muse," Crystara cut in, her voice smooth and conversational. "We thought of going to another world tomorrow, actually."
Pulse shot Crystara a look of complete confusion. He hadn't heard anything about this, but he kept his mouth firmly shut, recognizing the familiar glint of mischief in her eyes.
Celestial Muse sighed dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest, the tactical plating flexing slightly. "Sure. Of course you did. Fine. I'll just inform Skye for tomorrow. Try not to bring back any interdimensional pests this time."
"Thanks, my baby Muse." Crystara grinned, pushing herself up from the wall.
Muse replied instantly, her dazzling smile vanishing as she casually extended a middle finger towards Crystara before turning on her heel and sweeping down the hall. The gesture was so immediate and casual it was almost part of her walk.
"And what world exactly are we going to tomorrow?" Pulse asked, walking alongside Crystara, his confusion morphing into curiosity.
"Still in Kharavel," Crystara said, dismissing the passing conversation. "I thought we should go further and deeper. The anomalies are getting stronger outside the main settlement points. Might find some real loot."
"Sure, let's do it then." Pulse's eyes drifted to the disappearing figure of Celestial Muse down the distant hallway. "What do you think will happen? Will the government shut down Vanguard Bureau and Revenant Authority after that street fight?"
Crystara snorted. "Probably not. Especially since there wasn't a single civilian casualty, a bloody miracle, given the scale. But a heavy compensation package to the city council is inevitable. Muse will probably spend the next few weeks in senate hearings."
"That's it?" Pulse stopped, genuinely surprised. "A fine?"
Crystara stared at him, her lips twisting into a smirk. "Were you living under a rock? Oh, wait," she paused, then immediately said, "sorry, don't answer that. Basically, yeah. The government couldn't exactly shut down a bureau, especially not one with people like Celestial Muse in it. We are the deterrent, Pulse. The real deterrent. And you'd be surprised how often this kind of shit happens in other cities and especially other countries. The public just never hears the full scope of it."
She tilted her head, her tone shifting to serious curiosity. "So, what happened back there? When you touched Revara."
"I don't really know exactly what happened," Pulse admitted, recalling the blinding, confusing surge of energy he'd felt.
"Wanna try doing it again?" Crystara's voice was suddenly much closer.
"Sure, let's go to the training ground."
"How about try it on me?"
Pulse looked at her, baffled. "What? Of course not. I'm not even sure how I did it back then."
"But I'm Crystara," she declared, puffing out her chest slightly. "I'm tougher than some scared psychic teenager. How about this: you practice for a while in the training ground on the puppets, get a feel for the control, then after that, try it on me. I want to know what it feels like to be struck by that frequency."
Pulse sighed, weighing the danger against the request. "Fine. But if I accidentally injure you, it will be absolutely not my fault."
"Sure, sure," Crystara said airily. "Let's just go."
As they moved through the deeper, more functional corridors of the Bureau, the air grew thick with the smell of ozone and sweat. Many Awakened greeted Crystara, she was clearly still popular, or infamous, depending on who you asked.
"Thanks, Crystara," one burly, scarred man called out, nodding to her. "That little side quest you started? Earned me a thousand of bucks."
Crystara winked at him. "Sure man, try starting a fight with the other bureaus next time."
Just as they approached the entrance to the training wing, a tall, handsome man stepped into their path. He had black, slicked-back hair, a muscular body tailored impeccably in a luxurious suit, and an expression of profound self-satisfaction.
"Crystara," the man drawled, his voice deep and smooth, clearly expecting her to stop. "Are you free tonight? We could discuss the quarterly reports over a very exclusive vintage."
Crystara merely glanced at him, her pace never slowing. "No," she said flatly, continuing to move towards the training room door.
Pulse waited until they were safely past, then leaned in conspiratorially. "Hehe, that dude's handsome as fuck. If you're being too shy, do you want some help so both of you could date?" Pulse laughed, enjoying the teasing.
Crystara sent him a frigid, murderous glare that could have iced over the hallway. "That guy is a fucking narcissist who spends half his combat budget on hair product. So shut the fuck up."
"You could fix him," Pulse insisted, trying to stifle another burst of laughter.
Crystara was about to launch a detailed, venomous description of the man's many flaws and defend herself when Pulse cut her off gently. "We're here."
They entered the vast training ground, a cavernous space floored with reinforced alloy, dotted with dented metal targets and holographic emitters. Pulse moved immediately to one of the iron puppets, a heavily armored, humanoid training drone.
"Well, let's go straight to it," Pulse stated, positioning himself. "If I feel that I can't control my powers quite well, I won't risk touching you."
Crystara muttered under her breath, a faint, disappointed sound. "Tsk, too bad then."
Pulse didn't hear her. He focused, channeling his vibration power. He tried to mimic the feeling he'd had when securing Revara, a focus intended not to destroy, but to analyze and stabilize. He touched the iron puppet, sending a subtle frequency through its chassis. Pulse could suddenly 'see' all the insides of the puppet the rust on the joints, the flow of the hydraulic fluid, the precise alignment of the internal processors.
Crystara watched, unimpressed. "The puppet is vibrating for a bit, but nothing much. Looks like a massage gun."
Pulse scowled, pulling his hand away. "That was the non-aggressive setting. Let me try the real deal."
He focused again, concentrating pure, destructive intent. This was the frequency meant to shatter armor, liquefy organs, and turn bone into dust. He placed his hand on the puppet's shoulder.
The effect was instantaneous and violent. The iron puppet didn't just rattle; it screamed. The air around it turned hazy as the intense vibration caused intense friction. The ground started to shake violently enough that Crystara took a brace step back. The iron puppet's internal mechanisms buckled, its armor plates convulsed and warped, and smoke poured from its joints. Pulse held the frequency for three full seconds before letting go. The puppet collapsed, nothing more than a smoking, structurally compromised husk.
Crystara whistled low. "Okay, so we know you can still kill things. That's good." She approached him, a devilish smirk playing on her lips. "Well? Can you touch me now?" She dragged the last word out, inflecting it with a teasing, deeply seductive tone, raising one eyebrow slightly as she waited.
Pulse looked at her, raising his own eyebrow at her brazen delivery. "Yeah, kinda. But I'm still not sure where the line is between atomizing and... well, whatever happened with Revara."
"It's good enough," Crystara declared, already stepping away.
In a flash of light, her body transformed. The fragile skin and cloth attire vanished, replaced by her powerful, crystalline form. She stood before him, solid, shimmering, and seemingly impervious, a woman made entirely of polished, purple-hued crystal shards molded perfectly into her shape. Her expression was challenging.
"How about you use the gentle frequency while I'm in this form?" she challenged. "The crystal can take it. There's no blood, no fragile organs. You can't break me, Pulse. Hit me with everything you've got on the 'soothing' dial, and see what happens."
Pulse sighed heavily, the familiar sense of resignation returning. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't back down. "If anything happens, I hope you won't blame me. And I'm sorry in advance."
"I trust you," Crystara said simply, the crystal surface of her face catching the training floor lights.
Pulse took a deep breath. "Here we go, then. Maybe I could also massage you."
He focused his intent once more, trying to find the exact frequency signature from the Revara incident, a vibration that analyzed, stabilized, and surged with overwhelming, non-hostile energy. He made the vibration smooth, focused, and deep, intending it to resonate through the crystalline structure.
Pulse placed his hand onto the solid, cool crystal of her shoulder.
The moment of contact was immediate and overwhelming for both of them.
For Pulse, it was like touching a living, resonant tuning fork. The pure, non-destructive energy he channeled didn't just hit the crystal; it flowed through it, mapping every facet, every molecular bond, and returning a blinding feedback loop of pure, condensed power. He felt the entire structure of her body vibrate in perfect, harmonious resonance with his palm.
For Crystara, the shock was total. The localized vibration was unlike any physical force she had ever endured. It pierced the crystal shell and went straight to the core of her consciousness. It wasn't pain; it was an ecstatic, dizzying sensory overload. The low, resonant frequency Pulse channeled felt like it was massaging every nerve ending in her body simultaneously, dissolving every trace of tension, settling into the primal, deep matrix of her power. Her head immediately flung upwards, a sharp, choked gasp escaping her crystalline lips. Her eyes squeezed shut, and the powerful surge of pure, intense euphoria triggered an involuntary, deep, guttural sound trying to force its way out of her throat, a sound that was half moan, half scream.
With every ounce of her streetwise self-control and stubborn will, Crystara managed to clamp down, suppressing the noise, biting back the explicit, overwhelming vocal response the unexpected sensation demanded of her. She stood rigid, vibrating, suspended in an instant of intense, physical bliss, utterly dependent on the hand locked onto her shoulder.