Time elevator was humming as it took them deeper into the MWMB facility. You could feel the change in the air with every floor they passed. It got colder and heavier, and there was this sharp smell, almost like metal mixed with some kind of electricity. Ater was feeling a bit uneasy about this place; it didn't just feel like another set of floors in a boring government building. It felt like a hidden vault, a secret chamber meant to keep something really dangerous under wraps.
Ater stood there, feeling tense and stiff, gripping the bento box Mira had given him tightly. He hadn't opened it yet. Nope, not here. Not when the atmosphere was so quiet. He was wary of silence these days.
Next to him, Elm was as calm and composed as ever, arms behind his back, eyes focused on the elevator doors as if he was hitting a mental pause button. He hadn't uttered a word since they stepped in, but that was how Elm operated. For him, silence spoke louder than words.
"What are you planning?" Ater finally asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the tension thick in the air.
Elm didn't even glance over. "A test," he replied coolly. "We need to gauge your strength, reflexes, and how you think under pressure. It's important to find your limits. You know, before things get too intense."
Ater clenched his jaw at that. "So basically an experiment?"
Elm seemed unfazed, correcting him, "It's a controlled evaluation. We need to figure out what you can do, and what you can't."
Just then a soft chime broke the thick moment of silence. The elevator doors slid open with a quiet hiss, and they stepped into what looked like the Proving Grounds.
The space was enormous, almost like a cathedral. The ceiling seemed to vanish into darkness above them. Graviton coils floated high above, pulsing with a rhythmic violet light. Platforms floated mid-air, gliding around slowly, while the floor shifted beneath them—metal turning to gravel, then to uneven earth, transforming into striking crystalline structures that seemed to pulse with energy. In the center was a hexagonal arena, surrounded by sturdy barriers.
And right inside, moving as if on another dimension, was a being named Inter. He didn't really stand like a normal person; he flickered in and out like a glitch. At first, he looked like a mess of broken code, jerking one moment and flowing the next. He crouched, sprang into the air, twisted in ways that seemed to bend the laws of physics, and landed softly as if gravity had taken a day off.
He was dressed in a sleeveless jacket covered in blue patches of kinetic ink that moved around like living designs. His pants were a collage of straps and wires, and one boot looked reinforced while the other was practically threadbare. His gloves were part tactical and part flashy performer wear. He bounced lightly on his feet as if he was just itching for a challenge.
Then, he grinned at Ater. "Warboy!" he shouted, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Welcome to the tutorial mode!"
Ater blinked, a mix of disbelief and annoyance crossing his face. "You're kidding, right?"
Elm stepped in from behind, his tone matter-of-fact, "Inter is your opponent."
Ater's incredulity deepened, "You're serious?"
Elm nodded without skipping a beat. "He's faced twelve world collapses, led salvage missions, and dealt with some really tough anomalies with a broken drone and—"
"A bagel!" Inter chimed in. "Toasted multigrain, of course."
Ater took a sharp breath. "I'm going to break his jaw."
"Good," Elm replied calmly. "Let's see if you can catch him first."
As the lights dimmed, the entire arena shifted. The sterile white light was gone, replaced by warm, amber tones that gave the atmosphere a more gritty feel. The ground shook beneath Ater's feet as grappling metal peeled back layers, revealing broken concrete paths. The scene looked like something straight out of a war zone; jumbled ruins, jagged pillars, all hinting at battles long past.
Ater stepped forward with resolve. He was trained, always ready. Inter, however, was already in motion.
Inter flickered, jumping and spinning like a firework. The first kick barely missed Ater's face, but the second connected with his ribs, sharp and jarring.
"Ater felt a sharp jolt in his ribs. It hit him out of nowhere, a sudden blast of pain that caught him off guard. He stumbled back, realizing quickly that when Inter threw punches, they had some serious weight behind them. The sting ran deep, and he struggled to catch his breath.
"Lesson one!" Inter shouted with a grin, crouching as if they were just two kids playing at the park rather than fighting for their lives. "Being mad doesn't make you faster!"
With that, he bounced lightly on his feet, looking like he was having the time of his life, while Ater was left scrambling. Without wasting any time, Ater fired back a punch—quick and straightforward. But Inter wasn't just dodging; he was glitching. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone, pixels scattering like he couldn't decide where to be. Then he reappeared right behind Ater.
Before Ater could register what happened, Inter swept his legs out from under him. Down to the ground he went, breath knocked out of him, but he didn't just lie there. He rolled and quickly got back up, gritting his teeth as he saw Inter coming at him again.
They clashed, blows thrown back and forth in a whirlwind of motion. Ater noticed that he was hitting way more air than he was hitting Inter. It felt like Inter was dancing around him, completely untouchable. "You've got good bones," Inter shouted as he ducked under Ater's punch, "but your pacing? Awful."
Frustration bubbled up in Ater. For a moment, he nearly lost it, but he took a deep breath and reminded himself to keep it together. Inter wasn't as random as he seemed. There was a rhythm, a pattern to his movements. It wasn't chaos; it was more like a song, a beat that made sense when you recognized it.
Ater shifted his stance, relaxing a little and focusing more. Instead of chasing after Inter, he started to listen to what was happening around him. This time, each of his movements had a purpose; he was thinking ahead. The fight turned into a dance of blocking and countering, and then finally—he landed a solid hook to Inter's ribs. He saw that grin on Inter's face twitch a bit, and he felt a flicker of hope. He was getting closer.
Now, Inter came at him even faster, dropping any pretense of games and clearly shifting to a more aggressive style. It was all about raw movement, no witty remarks this time, just fierce energy. They collided again, trading strikes, blocks, and feints before Ater noticed something. There was a moment—a hint, a flicker that broke the illusion.
Ater seized the opportunity and lunged toward the glitch, elbow first—Crack. It connected cleanly. Inter reeled back, clearly shocked, and crashed into a pillar. Dust blew up everywhere as he crumpled to the ground. A moment of silence followed, and then the floor began to tremble beneath Ater's feet.
The air shifted; it turned heavy and cold, a chill that made him uneasy. Lights began to flicker. The edge of the simulation wavered in and out of focus, like it was struggling to stay intact. Ater's eyes flew to Inter, who was slowly pushing himself up, but there was no grin now—only a serious look.
"...Oh," Inter muttered, seeming to realize something wasn't right. A bright sigil lit up across the room, and it didn't look like any code or projection. This was something alive, pulsing as if it had a heartbeat of its own. Strange symbols shifted across its surface, alien and forgotten.
Suddenly, Elm's voice crackled over the overhead speakers, filled with static. "Training terminated. All units, report to Containment Grid Twelve. Immediately." The floor groaned again. Ater took a few steps back, eyes fixed on the sigil.
His moment of triumph didn't matter anymore. This wasn't just another training mishap—it was serious.
"What's coming through?" Ater asked, his voice low and tense.
Inter paused, pulling a short blade from the sheath strapped to his back. The blue light hummed ominously along its edge. For a change, his voice was flat and all business: "...Nothing good."
Then, without warning, the wall cracked—not a glitch, a real break. The sound was like metal tearing apart, and it felt as if something was trying to break through from the other side. The sudden drop in temperature sent chills down Ater's spine.
His body reacted instinctively; he squared his shoulders and rooted his feet to the ground. The soldier within him kicked in, ready for whatever was about to come. Light from the sigil twisted and bent improperly, and the wall buckled like it couldn't hold back the force of whatever was coming through.
Ater and Inter stood together, side by side, facing whatever danger lay ahead. They were ready for this unexpected turn, ready for a fight—because whatever was coming, wasn't something the Bureau had prepared them for.
beserk
The first sound that reached Ater's ears wasn't a bomb going off, but it was worse than that. It was a terrible screeching noise, something like metal being ripped apart, or fork through a black board. It sent his survival instincts max. He quickly turned to face the wall. At first, everything seemed normal. It was the usual heavy stone, tall and sturdy, lined with those Bureau-grade seals they always bragged about—basically like saying "this wall can't be knocked down."
But then he heard it—a crack, thin and almost fragile, like if you were to look closely at a piece of glass. He had no time to react before the wall let out a dreadful groan, splitting open. Debris flew out like cannonballs, propelled by a rush of air so strong it felt like it was trying to push Ater and Inter away. Suddenly, Ater was thrown into the air without even knowing what hit him. He landed hard on the ground, skidding painfully across the pavement. He banged his shoulder into the metal railing, and it hurt like hell. His lungs felt like they were on fire as he gasped for air.
Inter didn't fare much better. Off to the side, Ater heard a grunt and the unmistakable sound of something breaking—he could only hope it wasn't a rib.
Smoke and dust churned around them, filling the street with a haze that made it hard to see. Then came footsteps—slow, deliberate, and way too calm for the situation. From the haze, a tall figure stepped out, framed by a faint purple light coming from the breach. Each step sounded louder than the last, as if even the ground was confused about whether to support his weight.
Ater's stomach dropped when he recognized him. One of the resent dangeous fugitives after taking an illegal exosuit.
Dravik Korr. He used to be with the Bureau, but that was before... now? Now he looked like a nightmare. Ater had only seen him last on some old surveillance footage; back then, he looked normal—clean-cut, sane. Now, he was something else entirely. His presence felt unsettling, like static electricity that made your skin crawl.
The armor Dravik wore was black, a sleek exosuit that looked almost alive, shifting and changing as he moved. And the strangest thing? There was this glowing orb right in the middle of his chest, a deep purple that pulsed like it had a life of its own. That was the Kinetic Absorption Core—something so dangerous it was banned. It wasn't just some fancy gadget; it absorbed blows and turned them back on whoever attacked. You hit him, and he'd hit back harder. Shoot at him, and he'd make the ground shake.
Dravik didn't say a word. He just kept walking until he stopped a few meters away, looking like a dark cloud over everything that had gone wrong.
Ater tried to get up, adrenaline coursing through him, but then another presence caught his attention. He could hear boots thudding on the ground behind him, quick and calculated. He felt a rush of wind as a coat flared out. It was Elm.
He'd dressed in his usual sharp black coat, glasses slightly askew, his eyes scanning every inch of the breach. He didn't even look at Ater right away; he was too focused, studying the fracture in the wall with a sharp gaze. His hands started moving in thin air, like he was tapping on some invisible screen. For a moment, the wall's light glinted in his lenses, making them glow a ghostly blue.
"It's not a simulation," he muttered, his voice calm and collective "This is real. This is really happening."
Inter whispered, "What the hell is he doing here?"
Elm let out a slow breath. "I don't think he came to chat."
Dravik stood there, completely still, not giving anything away. Ater could barely muster the strength to sit up; he was still dazed, dust in his lungs, blood trickling from his as He wanted to shout, to warn Elm, but the look in his eyes stopped him.
This wasn't the Elm who normally rattled off diagnostics and smart remarks. This was the Elm from the old files, the one with a deadly reputation from the Bureau's covert missions. He didn't back down from danger; he calculated his moves.
Then, with a swift breath, Elm was gone. One moment he was standing there; the next, he vanished in what seemed like the blink of an eye. In an instant, he reappeared right behind Dravik, brandishing a sharp blade that had been hidden beneath his coat. This wasn't some regular weapon—no, it was sleek and custom-made, engraved with odd symbols that shimmered in the violet light.
Elm moved like a machine, each action deliberate and precisesesesesesese. He aimed for the back of Dravik's knee, striking with a calculated slice, then another jab to his ribs, expertly disrupting his balance. He fought like a surgeon, but then Ater felt something was off. Each of Elm's hits sent a pulse through the core in Dravik's chest, a dull, steady hum, almost like it was coming to life.
Elm landed a clean hit, flipping over Dravik's shoulder while sliding his blade across the back of Dravik's armor. Sparks lit up the air. For a heartbeat, it seemed like Elm had the upper hand, forcing Dravik to play defense, breaking his rhythm. But then that changed. Dravik stopped dodging altogether, his fist tightened, and the core blazed with energy. As He notices broken elavatpr shaft.
Elm's eyes widened in realization that he was too late-
CRASH
Elm was flung through the elavator for as Elm plummits to the depth.
The air felt electric after Elm's fall. Ater was on shaky legs, but it wasn't from the pain; it was the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, making him feel alive, almost like he's heart was ablaze.
Dravik stood firm between Ater and Inter, completely still, almost like a statue. He was like a murder drone k, holding back the chaos that threatened to erupt around them. There was a faint steam coming off his body, as if he were a boiling pot ready to spill over.
"Inter," Ater growled, not daring to look back at him, "Can you still move?"
Inter let out a low grunt in response. "Barely." He was pushing himself off the ground, blood trickling down from a cut above his brow. His voice was strained but he was still able to focus. "But I don't need to move much."
Quickly, he pulled a slim data card from his belt, jabbing it into the control panel nearby. The moment he did, everything changed.
BOOM.
Boom.
Boom.
Lights started flickering chaotically, flashing from pure white to red and then to black. It was blinding and confusing. The noise kicked in next—screeching feedback blasted from every speaker in the hallway. It wasn't music; it wasn't even just noise—it was a chaotic mess of sounds that felt like a bad dream.
It was loud, sure, but it did more than just that. It threw everything into disarray. Dravik swayed slightly, and Ater could see the flickering Core in his chest. It was like a light that wouldn't stop blinking. Dravik instinctively reached for his ears, but the sound wasn't just filling the air. It was everywhere, vibrating through the walls and even into the ground, feeling like something was alive inside his armor.
"Now!" Ater shouted.
They lunged forward, working together. Ater dropped low and sprinted in from the left while Inter covered the right. They hit Dravik almost like it was a well-practiced routine. The idea was straightforward: distract him, throw him off his game, and take him down.
Ater made the first move, delivering a low jab aimed at Dravik's hip joint. It worked—Dravik turned to focus on him, and Inter was quick to follow up with a shock blade aimed for Dravik's knee. They connected, but Dravik didn't go down.
Instead, he was processing their moves, his mind working fast. Suddenly, like he had all the time in the world, he caught Ater in motion. One strong hand clamped around Ater's torso like a vice.
"ah—!" Ater shouted, He tried to break free but it was too late.
Dravik spun around, and in one brutal motion, he sent Ater crashing into Inter, just like a wrecking ball demolishing a wall. The impact shattered Inter's visor, sending glass and blood splattering everywhere. They collapsed to the ground, limbs going limp like ragdolls.
The screeching noise from the speakers ended with a whimper, and the lights stabilized, but everything felt cold and normal again—too normal. Inter wasn't moving. The hacking field that had filled the corridor was gone. Ater lay there groaning, barely able to lift his head, blood filling his mouth. His arm hurt a lot, either dislocated or broken.
Dravik moved forward, steam rising off him once more. He wasn't rushing or charging; he was just walking toward them calmly, like he was here to teach a lesson, not to fight.
Ater's vision started to blur, darkening like ink spilling across a page. His body felt like it had given up, no energy left to fight back. His lungs screamed for air, and he felt like a puppet dangling in the grip of a monster. Dravik seemed to thrive on that power. His grip tightened around Ater's throat, fingers digging into bruised skin.
The Core in Dravik's chest pulsed with each heartbeat, glowing as if it were alive. His lips curled into a twisted grin. "You're mine now." His voice was cold as ice but felt like it had fire behind it. "You belong to me, and I'm going to break you. Bit by bit, until all that's left is nothing."
With a quick motion, Dravik grabbed Ater's neck, forcing him to look directly into his eyes, almost like he was trying to make him the last thing he sees But what he found looking back wasn't power or defiance. It was something quieter. Deep down, beneath all the pain and chaos, Ater felt a flicker. Not visible on the surface, but nestled within him, there was a warmth, a kind of energy waiting to be unleashed.
The warmth in Ater felt like it was fading, but it wasn't completely gone. Dravik was too caught up in his victory to notice this. He was too busy celebrating abpve the lifeless form of Ater. But something else was brewing inside Ater—a sound, a distant memory, a voice that wasn't his own.
It whispered through the storm in his mind, urging him on. Not yet. Not yet.
"Get up," it insisted.
Ater's heart was beating slowly, like a drum in the stillness. He could feel something stirring deep within him. It was as if the world around him was fading, the sounds becoming muffled and the colors dimming. Shadows started to creep in, and even Dravik's voice felt far away, almost like distant thunder muffled by water. His body felt heavy, weighed down by pain and fatigue, like a stone sinking in water. Yet, in that still moment, a memory broke through.
He thought of his father, Prothae—just a shadow now but filled with an undeniable strength. He could picture those rugged hands, lifting heavy beams without flinching, standing tall in a crumbling world. His dad didn't share many words and spoke volumes. It reassured Ater that he would stand strong no matter what.
Then came the memory of Alvi. Her voice was soft but strong, like a steady foundation when everything else felt shaky. She never had to engage in conflict to make her presence felt; she simply existed, and everything else seemed to follow suit.
Ater gasped—not out of panic but as a declaration. He was not ready to give in, not while their memories fueled him. From inside him, something started to shift. It felt both hot and cold, like fire and ice battling within him. He could sense a change in his body as the skin along his back stirred.
In a surreal moment, thick black sludge began to seep from his shoulders, a liquid darkness moving with a mind of its own, slithering down his arms like snakes. Dravik, still oblivious, was tightening his grip on Ater's neck as if he were about to deliver a final blow. But Ater's fingers moved. Was immedietly sent back by a punch form unknown source.
From Ater forearm, a tendril sprang forth, coiling and morphing into shape. It quickly solidified—not metal, not armor, but something in between. It formed a gauntlet, pulsating with a strange light, as if heat and shadow were fighting for dominion.
With a sudden rush of instinct, Ater opened his eyes wide, no longer afraid. Dravik lunged forward, aiming for Ater's head, the last desperate move. But Ater caught his fist, the sound of the impact shaking the corridor.
A mixture of shock and disbelief crossed Dravik's face, and then without warning, Ater struck back. His fist met Dravik's chest like a mallet on meat, unleashing a burst of energy that rippled through the hallway, erupting in a shower of sparks and debris.
Dravik was thrown back against the wall, his body hitting the alloy with a thud. Dust filled the air. Ater sank to one knee, trying to catch his breath. The gauntlet felt alive now, pulsing with energy.
He wasn't just feeling powerful; he felt more connected to something deeper inside himself. It wasn't about fury or revenge—it was about the fact that he still had a heartbeat and a fighting spirit.
Breathing hard, he rose again, the gauntlet moving with him like it was alive. It wasn't stable or smooth, but it felt right. Then a second tendril burst from his shoulder, forming a jagged spear of darkness in his hand, brimming with chaotic energy.
With determination, Ater flung the spear towards Dravik, who by then was raising an arm in defense struck him, exploding like fireworks against his shoulder and sending him stumbling as Dravik bleed.
Ignoring the shards of broken energy raining down, Ater pressed onward. He formed a platform beneath his foot and lunged to gain the upper hand, very aware of every moment and movement. As he landed behind Dravik, who was reeling from the impact, Ater could feel the tide of battle shifting.
But then, in a flash of motion, another tendril flared off Ater, creating a shimmering, uncertain double of himself. It lunged at Dravik, who turned too late, startled by the unexpected addition wrapping around Dravik neck as.
Ater followed up with a strong swipe from the gauntlet, catching Dravik by surprise. It felt like victory was within his grasp, as he started to adapt and shape this unpredictability to his favor. But Dravik wasn't going down without a fight.
In a swift retaliation, Dravik responded with a crushing blow to Ater's midsection, knocking the wind out of him and sending him crashing hard against the metal ground. He felt the aches intensify, and as he struggled to stand, Dravik approached menacingly, brute strength playing a central role in the clash of powers. As he lift Ater up by the throat despite Ater stabbing Dravik arm multiple times yet his grip remained strong a firm.
However, Ater wasn't finished. Even as the power he harnessed felt wild and chaotic within him, it was still fighting back with fierce energy. He realized he had to shift his mindset; this battle wasn't simply about winning—it was about holding out.
As everything around him dimmed and flickered, he reached out instinctively. His fingers grazed something behind Dravik, touching the exposed conduit.
In that split second, the tendrils jerked into action, burrowing into the panel with a sickening crunch, sending waves of electricity through both men. The ensuing explosion was deafening, a force so powerful it pushed Ater and Dravik apart forcefully.
As the chaos settled, Ater lay on the ground, gasping and shaking, his senses overwhelmed by a haze of smoke and the taste of copper in his mouth. Slowly, the dust started to clear, revealing the scene of destruction.
In the heart of the wreckage, he spotted Dravik and himself, both crumpled amidst the debris, smoke swirling around their forms. They twitched slightly, remnants of life still sparking within them. Inter, another survivor, pulled himself from the wreckage, blinking through the haze of chaos.
He saw Elm appear, dusting soot off his coat, surveying the damage with sharp, calculating eyes. A moment passed before he spoke. "Is he alive?"
Even the question felt heavy in the air, echoing with tension and uncertainty. Inter coughed as he righted himself and managed, "Barely... I think. But that explosion... I thought we were done for."
Elm moved closer, carefully navigating the charred floor. After checking on inter, He rushed to Ater crouching beside Ater, he glanced at the boy. "That wasn't supposed to happen," he murmured, as if pondering a deep mystery and hint of guilt .
In that moment, the air was thick with unsaid words, pulsing with an energy that felt foreign and strange. The quiet aftermath stretched, leaving the wreckage of battle and the lingering presence of survival in its wake.