The room felt heavy, the air thick with unspoken urgency. Dim lighting barely pushed back the darkness pooled in the corners, while hologrammed planets flickered in unstable pulses, their glow stretching fractured reflections across metallic surfaces.
A quiet hum of machinery vibrated beneath the silence, swallowed by the weight of anticipation. Shadows shifted, distorting as the planets rotated, illuminating faces in fragmented, fleeting glances.
At the forefront, a man stood—his posture rigid, his presence commanding. His brown hair was swept back, a single stray strand falling forward, disrupting the otherwise calculated neatness of his appearance.
Then—a voice, low and deliberate, echoed from behind.
The figure's expression hardened as the light revealed him—his silver hair, long and unkempt, streaked with two crimson marks at the front, like the remnants of something left behind. His suit, sharp and precise, bore the weight of his status, but the tension in his stance betrayed restraint barely held in check.
"How much time do we have?" His voice cut through the room, controlled yet edged with urgency.
The scientist remained facing the holograms, his gaze flicking briefly behind him, glasses catching the planetary glow, making his eyes unreadable.
"I'd say... about three days, max."
Silence pressed in, stretching between them.
The voice lingered, sharp with realization.
"Then we don't have much time." The figure's body tensed, fists clenching at his sides.
The scientist finally turned his head, the planetary glow catching in his glasses, making his eyes unreadable.
"What do you plan on doing now... Seraphis?"
The figure's back faced him now, his posture tall, assertive. He hesitated for only a moment before speaking.
"What we should have done before this began."
He moved toward the exit, each step measured, a quiet declaration of resolve.
The scientist's gaze shifted, returning to the holograms floating before him—four planets, suspended in silent motion, their graceful spin an unspoken hint at something greater. A quiet rebellion. A whispered fate already set in motion.
*****************************************************************************
Vance charged, a dark whirlwind on the battlefield. Amidst the chaos, Absynthe, flanked by Celestia and Synthena, stepped forward, light and shadow dancing in her wake. Their powers clashed, a tempest of energy that shook the ground itself, as Absynthe's determination blazed against Vance's fury.
Synthena barricaded the first attack with Vance's furious fist—his silver veins pulsed at impact, a hefty foe. Absynthe neutralized gravity, her body weightless as she made a swift dodge outside Synthena's blue dust barriers.
Celestia bent low behind Synthena's shield, watching as Synthena's patterns flickered—a sheer sign of panic. The force was so powerful, her struggles were clear—her barrier slightly shattered under Vance's relentless force. His grin menacing, his face dark with amusement at Synthena's struggles. Synthena's war cry echoed, trembling through the battle-worn lobby, as Vance pushed her backward toward the fountain. Celestia's attention snapped to the water, charging toward it, ready to empower her abilities
Synthena, crying yet her head held high, was scared—but her adrenaline kept her standing.
"I— I can't hold it. My shields are breaking!" cried Synthena, her once bubbly voice filled with desperation.
Absynthe charged toward Vance, her sword expanding, its length immense. The nightly ambiance empowered her strike. In a sudden motion, she threw her sword downward, prepared for impact.
Vance's eyes gleamed with amusement, pushing himself off Synthena's shield, shattering it completely. Synthena flew backward, hitting the ground hard.
Vance, springing backward, moved with fluid precision, landing where he charged next.
Absynthe stood her ground, her stance defensive, guarding her friends behind her.
Vance's face widened, and he laughed maniacally, his voice echoing through the ruined Lobby.
"This just got interesting!"
Absynthe stood tall, her stance steady, prepared for battle. Synthena, still reeling from the impact, pushed herself up from the floor, her body resisting the lingering force that had sent her down. In the background, Celestia knelt at the fountain, drinking deeply. As she turned slightly, she wiped her lips, her arm shielding the movement, her gaze sharp, ready.
The lobby swelled with tension, a space heavy with strategic calculations and unspoken anticipation. The air itself seemed to hum—an uneasy, cinematic silence before the storm.
Absynthe moved forward, her voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. "You guys handle the soldiers—I'll take him!" Her eyes locked onto Vance, a challenge burning in her stare.
Vance's posture shifted, his stance low and calculated. His left arm coiled tight at his side, his right brushing the ground, fingers flexing—waiting. For a moment, he glanced downward, as if reading the battlefield itself. Then, his gaze snapped upward, locking onto Absynthe.
Her sword pulsed at her side, light swelling, its radiance feeding off her determination. Her very presence glowed, empowered by a force deeper than herself—a vow, a purpose.
She charged.
He charged.
Celestia's second pair of eyes flicked open, twin orbs glowing in eerie unison. A shift in the air, a ripple in the battlefield's energy—she lifted slightly, her form hovering just above the ground, as if the very forces around her bent to her will.
Synthena's red and blue dust swirled in readiness, her stance firm as she locked her gaze forward. The colors pulsed, vibrating with anticipation—her breath steady, her fingertips tingling with power ready to be unleashed.
The battlefield was charged, the next move seconds away.
***************************************************************************************
Celestia's hands pulsed, charged with a magnetic force, energy humming between her fingers. Beyond the destroyed archways, she reached—the files obeying, pulled by her command, fragments of shattered walls drifting in her wake. They hovered at her sides, locked into position, awaiting the strike.
Synthena breathed deeply, her right hand shifting, blue dust swirling—manifesting into doves. They fluttered, wings unfolding with an unnatural grace, their presence eerie yet beautiful. At her left hand, red dust coiled, heavier—charged for destruction.
Their focus sharpened—locked onto the soldiers at Vance's side.
"Fire!" The soldiers shouted, voices echoing through the war-torn lobby.
Absynthe lunged, her blade colliding with Vance's furious strength—a battle of force, wits, and sheer survival.
Vance moved like a storm, fists tightening, muscles coiling like springs. He didn't need a blade—he was the weapon.
With terrifying speed, he closed the gap—his right leg snapping out, aiming straight for Absynthe's torso.
Absynthe twisted—just in time. Vance's kick grazed past her, the force ripping through the air with a cosmic sonic crack. She darted backward, but his fist followed, swinging with monstrous power.
Absynthe landed hard, knees buckling, her right arm limp, sword hanging low and sloppy. The ground quivered beneath her, pain gripping her torso, deep and unmeasured. She coughed—not much, just a teaspoon of blood—a small but haunting reminder of how close she was to collapse.
Vance saw his opening. His eyes flashed, his grin deepened, and he charged, his body a storm of fists and fury, aiming to end this fight for good.
Celestia hovered—her second pair of eyes burned, glowing in unison with her main ones. The files at her sides trembled, caught in the storm of her magnetic force.
This was it.
The past lingered—the betrayal, the resentment, the scars that never fully healed.
But in that instant, Celestia moved.
A surge of magnetic energy exploded outward, crashing between Vance and Absynthe. The force twisted the air, warping reality itself, sending debris suspended in midair for a heartbeat before shattering outward.
Absynthe's gaze softened—not in defeat, but in realization.
No time for forgiveness.
No time for closure.
Just survival. Just winning.
She met Celestia's stare, and Celestia met hers—a silent understanding passing between them.
"Go get him, Show him what true conviction is!" Celestia's voice rang out, cutting through the shattered halls of the lobby. The sound carried, reverberating through broken archways and war-torn pillars, a force of sheer conviction.
Absynthe's glance tightened—a silent, fleeting gesture. Not words, not grand proclamations, just understanding. Forgiveness wasn't spoken, wasn't exchanged—it simply existed in that moment.
And then she charged.
Stronger.
Fiercer.
With desperate, unwavering resolve, her blade blazed, its brilliance rivaling the stars themselves—a force not of revenge, but protection.
Synthena watched, heart pounding, recognizing the shift—the change she'd long awaited. A bright thrill spread across her face, her smile widening, eyes sparkling with knowing excitement.
Finally, not a fractured reunion, but a real one.
Synthena moved, her feet pounding against the ground, following Absynthe's charge straight toward Vance.
The soldiers shifted their aim, ready to fire—but Synthena wouldn't let them.
Her red dust ignited, armored doves manifesting at her sides, each one swirling with unbreakable energy. Their wings unfurled, their presence rising, their forms expanding into a shield of protection.
Celestia, no longer floating, plunged her hands into the fountain's water, steam rising, her skin flushed. She needed stamina. She needed strength.
And she would have it.
As Absynthe's blade blazed, brighter than the stars themselves, Celestia rose, her body charged, her energy a storm, and this time, she would not falter.