Back at Ebon Crest Tower, Don and Charles were currently in cell within the lower levels.

The room they were placed in didn’t match the word *cell*.

Not at first glance.

Reinforced walls lined every side, smooth and seamless, layered in a brushed silver finish that reflected light in muted tones rather than harsh glare.

Panels were embedded cleanly into the structure—weapon racks, storage compartments, sealed lockers—all arranged with careful spacing.

Nothing cluttered.

Nothing misplaced.

And yet—

It carried weight.

The air itself felt denser, regulated. Subtle hums moved through the walls—

Vmmmm—~

Environmental systems running beneath the surface, maintaining pressure, temperature, stability.

Along the far side, a long counter displayed equipment already laid out in sections. Armor pieces rested in fitted slots, weapons locked into place beneath transparent shielding, each labeled and organized with military precision.

Even the flooring—

Reinforced composite, darkened with faint metallic threading—absorbed sound rather than echoing it.

And still—

Luxury bled through it.

The lighting wasn’t sterile. It was warm, controlled. The edges of the room were lined with faint silver trims, polished enough to catch the light in soft reflections.

Even the lockers bore subtle engraving—family insignias worked into the design rather than stamped over it.

It didn’t look like just a weapons room. More like the private armory of a distinguished family.

Inside the cell—

Don adjusted the last of his gear.

It was a combat suit fit close to his frame, the material layered but flexible, black at its core with faint blue threading running along the seams. The lines followed his movement rather than resisting it, faintly reactive as his muscles shifted beneath.

He pulled one glove tight—

Flexed his hand.

The material responded instantly, tightening across his fingers without restricting movement. Faint lines along the surface pulsed once—

Then settled.

Across from him—

Charles finished lacing his boots.

His gear mirrored Don’s in structure, but not in detail. Black base, reinforced plates fitted along key points, but the accents were silver rather than blue. The cut of it suited him differently—lighter along the upper frame, more room across the back where his wings would be.

He stood upright—

Adjusted the collar slightly—

Then glanced over.

"How does it fit?"

Don didn’t look up immediately.

He rolled his wrist once.

Then again.

Tested the tension.

"Good," he said simply.

His fingers flexed again—

Then his gaze shifted.

"Did your machine make these as well?"

Charles shook his head once.

"No," he replied, brushing a hand lightly along the side of his arm where the plating sat. "These are made from materials even I would have trouble getting my hands on."

A faint exhale left him.

"Luckily, my family isn’t so stingy with sharing the gear otherwise—"

"Sir—!"

A voice suddenly cut in sharply.

A security personnel appeared at the entrance, posture tight, breath slightly uneven.

"We have a problem!"

Mr. Olynk’s expression hardened immediately. His brows drew together as he turned toward the man, already preparing to respond—

Then—

BOOM—!

The impact came from above.

Heavy.

The structure trembled—

A low rumble followed—

RRRRRMM—~

Dust shifted faintly along the edges of the ceiling panels before settling again.

Don’s head tilted upward slightly.

Charles stilled.

Mr. Olynk didn’t look away from the soldier.

"What’s going on up there?" he asked, voice firm.

"Sir!" the man responded quickly. "We’re being attacked by a collective group of infected—our superhuman rounds have been rendered useless!"

That—

Made him pause.

Only for a fraction.

Mr. Olynk’s gaze dropped to his wrist. The watch he wore was thick, durable—military in design—but refined in its finish. Dark metal casing, reinforced edges, the face protected by layered glass.

He tapped it once.

"Operator," he said. "Show exterior feeds."

A soft tone responded—

—and then a projection rose from the watch face, expanding outward into a stabilized screen.

The image flickered once—

Then locked.

Don stepped closer.

Charles shifted beside him.

All three focused on the display.

And frowned.

From a high-angle feed, the perimeter came into view—one side in particular, where movement had intensified. Security personnel lined the barricade, weapons raised, firing in controlled bursts—

THUD—THUD—THUD—~

Rounds tore forward in heavy succession.

But something was wrong.

Don saw it immediately.

The rounds slowed.

Not all at once—

But gradually.

At around two hundred meters—

Their speed dropped.

Further—

They stalled.

Not completely stopped—

They trembled in place—

Shaking mid-air—

Held back by something unseen.

"...Yeah," Don muttered under his breath.

His eyes narrowed.

"This is bad."

The source stepped into clearer view.

It was massive.

A man—

Once.

Now—

Something else.

Two upper arms—thick, overdeveloped—hung at his sides, muscle layered over muscle in unnatural density. Beneath them, two more arms extended from his lower torso, equally built but positioned wrong, joints bending at angles that didn’t align with the rest of his frame.

From his back—

Pincers.

Large.

Curved.

They jutted outward, opening and closing with slow, heavy motion—

CLK—CLK—~

His head sat too low on his shoulders, jaw stretched wider than it should have been. Rows of uneven teeth pushed outward, some broken, some elongated, all exposed.

His legs—

Didn’t match.

Blackened muscle ran along them, but beneath the surface—

Orange light burned.

Each step he took—

Left marks.

The ground scorched beneath his feet—

SSSS—~

Heat lingering where he moved.

And holding him together—

Vine-like stitching.

Dark strands wrapped around each mismatched section of his body, binding limbs that didn’t belong together. They tightened and shifted with every step, flexing as if alive.

Don’s gaze stayed locked.

Havenridge.

Same structure.

Same construction.

"...Those things are here too," he muttered.

Behind it—

Something else moved.

Floating.

Low.

A woman.

Her body was slender, almost delicate in shape, but nothing about her presence matched that. Long, dark hair dragged behind her—not flowing, not lifting—dragging across the ground like something heavy.

SCRRRRT—~

The sound followed her movement, metal grinding against stone as strands carved faint lines into the surface beneath.

Her eyes—

White.

No iris.

No pupil.

Just blank.

Beneath her skin, veins pulsed visibly—

Green light moving through them in slow waves.

She lifted one hand.

Casual.

Unrushed.

Nearby—

A car.

Left abandoned.

Its engine still idling faintly—

VRMMM—~

It lifted.

Metal creaked as it rose into the air—

Panels bending under the sudden force—

KRRRNN—~

Her wrist flicked.

The motion was small.

The result—

Immediate.

The car launched.

Fast.

Straight toward the tower—

WHOOOOM—!

Impact—

BOOOOM—!

The screen shook slightly as the explosion hit, flames bursting outward from the point of contact. Even down in the reinforced room they were in—

The tremor followed.

RRRMMM—~

Dust shifted again.

A low crack echoed somewhere above.