Project:Imagine

The weight of the coming day bore heavily on Iris as she checked the time. Midnight had come and gone, marking the shift from the twelfth to the thirteenth, the day that loomed over her like a dark cloud. In seven hours, Wallace Valentine, the man who had once saved her life, would die. The thought gnawed at her, a persistent dread that refused to let go. She glanced beside her at Charles, who was sleeping soundly, his presence a silent vigil by her side. It was hard to reconcile the peaceful face beside her with the aggressive loner Charles had once been. Yet here he was, proof that the choices she had made, the actions she had taken, were making a difference, not just in her life but in the lives of her friends as well.

Iris allowed herself to drift into sleep, knowing she would need every ounce of energy, for the day's ordeal No dreams haunted her, and no nightmares clawed at the edges of her mind. Even Fate, who occasionally visited her in these vulnerable moments, remained absent. Just the pure, undisturbed rest she so desperately needed. When she awoke, it was 6:30, and the events of the day were now a pressing reality. In just thirty minutes, Wallace would be poisoned. The urgency of it all snapped her fully awake.

She nudged Charles gently, rousing him from his sleep. He stirred slowly, his eyes opening to meet hers. The relief in his gaze was palpable as he pulled her into a tight hug, his voice thick with emotion.

“You had me so worried,” Charles confessed, a tear slipping down his cheek. “You were unconscious for days. I was scared you wouldn't ever wake up.”

Iris returned the embrace, feeling the weight of his concern. “I understand. I’m sorry for making you all worry, but I need your help, and I need it quickly.”

Charles hesitated, his protective instincts flaring up. “Just take it easy. The doc usually comes to check on you around 7:30, so at least wait for him. And do me a favor….don’t mention to him that I’ve been skipping class to check on you.”

A small smile tugged at Iris's lips despite the urgency. “You dummy… But listen, we don’t have time to wait. Don’t ask how I know this, but at 7:00, Wallace will be poisoned. We need to get to his office quickly.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. “Here I thought you were the role model here. But if you want to skip class, you don’t need to make up an excuse. Sure, let’s go to Wallace before he’s ‘poisoned.’”

Iris shot him an exasperated look. “Just follow me, dummy,” she snapped, annoyed by his sarcasm.

They bolted through the halls of the facility, the ticking clock pounding in Iris's ears. The corridors were already bustling with people, but Iris pushed through, her determination unshakable. Time seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously, every second a precious resource slipping away. Finally, they reached Wallace's office, the clock reading 6:59. Without hesitation, Iris kicked down the door, startling Wallace just as he was about to lift his coffee cup to his lips.

“Charles, quick! Destroy the cup, that’s what was poisoned!” Iris ordered, her voice sharp with urgency.

Wallace, startled by the sudden intrusion, looked between them in confusion. “Wait, what are you two doing? And Iris, when did you wake up?”

A crimson aura crackled to life around the cup as Charles focused his telekinesis, his brow furrowing in concentration. The air hummed with energy as the aura tightened its grip, and the cup began to tremble violently. With a sharp twist of his hand, Charles crushed the cup with an audible crack. It shattered into countless shards, which flew in every direction, one of them slicing across Wallace’s hand.

As the shards scattered, the poisoned coffee splashed onto the ground in dark, viscous drops. The liquid hissed ominously as it made contact with the floor, its color shifting from a rich brown to a sickly black as it spread. A faint, acrid smell filled the room, a telltale sign of the lethal concoction that had been hidden within the innocent-looking cup. Each drop that touched the ground sizzled as if the floor itself recoiled from the poison, leaving behind a series of charred marks that marred the otherwise pristine surface. Blood from Wallace's hand dripped alongside the coffee, mingling with the poisonous liquid in a grotesque mix of red and black.

Wallace winced as he looked down at his bleeding hand, still processing the chaos that had just unfolded before him. His eyes flicked to the ground, where the poison hissed and bubbled, and realization dawned on his face.

“What in the world…” Wallace muttered, his voice trailing off as the gravity of the situation became clear.

The room was heavy with tension, the danger averted by the slimmest of margins. Charles's breathing was ragged, his hand still outstretched, while Iris stood rigid, her heart pounding in her chest as the final drops of poison evaporated into the air, leaving behind only the dark stains of what could have been.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Charles stared at the sizzling remnants of the poisoned coffee, his wide eyes reflecting the dark, bubbling liquid. His voice trembled slightly, betraying the shock he tried to suppress.

“Wait… you were actually telling the truth?” Charles blurted out, his disbelief hanging in the air like a fog.

Iris, her adrenaline still surging, shot him a look of exasperation mixed with disbelief of her own. “If you didn't believe me, then why did you destroy the cup? Did you just want to break it for fun, you dummy?”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he stared at the ruined coffee cup, the pieces still crackling with the remnants of his telekinesis. The enormity of what had just happened began to sink in, leaving him at a loss for words.

Wallace, still clutching his bleeding hand, seemed equally stunned. His usually calm demeanor was shaken, his mind racing to make sense of the situation. “I have so many questions,” Wallace murmured, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic uncertainty. “I’m not even sure where to begin.”

Before anyone could respond, a deafening explosion rocked the facility. The walls trembled, and the floor beneath them seemed to ripple like water. The sound reverberated through every corridor, a monstrous roar that silenced all thought. The overhead lights flickered momentarily before the emergency alarms blared, filling the room with an ear-piercing wail.

An authoritative voice crackled through the loudspeakers, the message sharp and clear despite the chaos. “All students, hide within your dorms. If you are out in the open, proceed to the nearest designated bunker. All agents, intruders have broken in. Assist any students in getting to safety and eliminate any and all attackers you see.”

Iris, Charles, and Wallace froze, their eyes wide with shock and fear. The timing was too perfect, too precise. Wallace’s mind whirled as the pieces fell into place, the poisoned coffee, the exact moment he was meant to die, and now, the intruders. His stomach churned with dread as he realized this was no coincidence; it was a coordinated attack, meticulously planned down to the last second. The implications of it all sent a shiver down his spine.

“I’m not going to ask any questions right now,” Wallace finally said, his voice low and dangerous, cutting through the panic. His eyes, usually kind and patient, were now hard and steely, reflecting the gravity of the situation. “But I forbid either of you from leaving this office. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Iris and Charles responded in unison, their voices barely above a whisper. The weight of his command settled over them like a heavy blanket, smothering any thought of defiance. The severity in Wallace’s tone left no room for argument; it was a command that must be obeyed.

As they braced themselves for whatever was to come, an unsettling thought gnawed at the back of Wallace's mind. Meanwhile, the Alpha facility had been thrust into chaos, the Beta facility was experiencing the same fate at the same time. Intruders had breached the facility's defenses in a coordinated strike. But among them, six stood out, in particular, two were leading the charge.

The first figure was a striking presence, a man who seemed to revel in his flamboyance. His blonde hair was perfectly styled beneath a tall, elegant top hat, giving him an air of theatricality. Draped around his shoulders was a flowing black cloak, its edges embroidered with intricate silver patterns that shimmered as he moved. His attire was a curious blend of the formal and the eccentric, a dark sweater vest adorned with a multitude of trinkets and charms that clinked softly with each step. His deep blue eyes, sharp and calculating, were partially obscured by a white half-faced mask, its surface decorated with two red diamonds painted just beneath his eyes, adding a touch of menace to his otherwise jovial appearance. He casually played on his portable game console, seemingly uninterested in the chaos unfolding around him.

“You need to focus, you damn brat,” Hummingbird snapped, their irritation palpable.

Standing to Mockingbird's right was an enigmatic figure, their entire being a mystery shrouded in darkness. The red mask they wore covered their entire face, leaving no hint of their true identity. The rest of their body was concealed beneath layers of dark clothing, a black cloak that billowed around them like smoke, and a wide-brimmed black straw hat perched atop their head, lending them an air of old-world elegance. The only splash of color was the yellow sun-shaped necklace that hung from their neck, gleaming like a beacon in the gloom. In their gloved hand, they held a golden scepter that caught the light, casting eerie reflections on the walls. Their voice, when they spoke, was heavily altered, a distorted tone that made it impossible to discern their gender or origin.

“Oh please, the Saint should be poisoned by now,” Mockingbird replied lazily, not taking his eyes off his game. “Besides, the Swan and the Slayer are the only ones who pose any real threat, and I’m sure you can handle the Slayer, right?”

Hummingbird shot him a sharp glance. “I have a plan for them, but just in case the Saint isn't dead, bring Frost with you.”

Frost was a stunningly beautiful woman with an ethereal presence. Her long, light blue hair cascaded down her back in waves, shimmering like the surface of a frozen lake. Her golden eyes were cold and unyielding, reflecting the icy aura that surrounded her. She was dressed in a sleek, black dress that hugged her form, paired with elegant black gloves that extended up her arms. In her hand, she casually rolled a suitcase behind her as if she were on a leisurely stroll rather than en route to a deadly mission. Each step she took in her black heels left a trail of frost on the ground, and the very air around her seemed to chill as she walked.

“How boring,” she pouted, her voice laced with disappointment. “But fine, I'll help you freeze your corpse.”

“Good,” Hummingbird responded, their tone decisive. “As for you two, Knight, Scholar, go kill the Swan and Iris. They should be together.”

Knight was an imposing figure, towering over the others with his massive frame encased in a suit of battered metal armor. The armor, though weathered and scarred from countless battles, still held a menacing gleam. His helmet, cracked across the visor in a way that resembled a vicious grin, hid his face completely, adding to his fearsome aura. Over his armor, he wore a pair of sweatpants and a black hoodie, an odd juxtaposition that only made him seem more unhinged. A large sword hung at his side, its hilt worn from use, and every movement he made seemed to resonate with barely restrained violence.

“I've been waiting to kill her for a long time now,” Knight growled, his voice echoing ominously from within his helmet. “I can’t wait.”

Beside him was Scholar, a young woman whose appearance belied the fury that simmered beneath the surface. Her short, curly pink hair framed a face that was both youthful and intense. She wore circle-framed glasses that sat on the bridge of her nose, reflecting the light in a way that concealed her eyes. Dressed in a white hoodie over a maroon shirt and sweatpants, her outfit was unassuming, but the aura she exuded was anything but. Her green sneakers were scuffed from wear, and slung over her shoulder was a lime green messenger bag shaped like a grinning monster. Clutched tightly in her hand was an ancient-looking book, its pages yellowed with age and covered in strange, unreadable symbols that seemed to pulse with dark energy.

“I’m also excited,” Scholar hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “She’ll get what’s coming to her.”

Hummingbird turned to the last member of their assault force, a figure whose presence was as unpredictable as it was deadly. “As for you… just go have fun with it,” they said dismissively, uncertain of how to direct this particular wild card.

The final figure stepped forward, exuding a chilling aura. He was a young man with medium-length blonde hair that framed his face, his eyes a deep, bloody crimson that seemed to pierce through the very soul of anyone who dared to meet his gaze. His facial features were strikingly handsome, like a movie star from a bygone era, yet there was an unnerving quality to his beauty, something that set him apart as more than human.

He wore a maroon hoodie lined with fur, the hood often drawn up to cast shadows over his face, enhancing his already menacing presence. His black pants and dress shoes gave him an appearance of casual elegance, a stark contrast to the monstrous nature that lurked beneath. His very presence sent shivers down the spines of those who knew the truth about him.

This was no ordinary Awakened. This was The Boogeyman, a creature of nightmares, the strongest monster that had haunted humanity since the Dark Ages. He fed on the fear of humans, their terror, and tears sustaining him, making him grow stronger with each cry of despair. His name alone was enough to inspire dread, and his very existence was a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked just beyond the reach of the light.

The Boogeyman moved with a fluidity that defied comprehension, appearing before Hummingbird in an instant. His expression, once blank, now twisted into a sinister smile as he loomed over them. With terrifying speed, he reached out and placed a hand on Hummingbird’s head, ruffling their hair as if they were nothing more than a pet.

“I have to say, I like you," The Boogeyman murmured, his voice low and chilling. "You’re smart enough to know that if you ever dared to order me around, I’d kill you and every one of your little friends here. Good doggie. It’s good that you know your place.”

The Boogeyman's tone dripped with condescension as he continued to pat Hummingbird’s head, each touch a reminder of his overwhelming power. Then, leaning in close, he whispered into their ear, his breath cold against their skin.

“Just so you know," he whispered, his voice barely above a hiss, "I know your secret. Let that stay in the back of your mind for the rest of the day.”

With that, The Boogeyman released Hummingbird and walked off, his laughter echoing through the corridor like a death knell. The sound of screams began to fill the air, the agonized cries of the agents who had dared to face him. None of the other attackers dared to look, too afraid to witness the carnage that the Boogeyman left in his wake.

Meanwhile, back in Wallace’s office, a grim determination settled over the room. Wallace stood before a mirror, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he prepared for the coming battle. His lab coat was discarded in favor of a sleek black coat lined with fur, the purple gems on the cuffs gleaming as he infused them with his aura. As the gems absorbed the energy, a small portal began to open beside him, swirling with arcane power. From within, Wallace pulled out a delicate earring shaped like a dragon, a blue crystal twining around it in an intricate dance.

“Sadly, this is all the equipment I have on me," Wallace muttered to himself, his voice tinged with regret. "I wasn’t expecting to need much more, but at least I brought one of my main artifacts.”

Iris, her eyes filled with resolve, stepped forward. “Wallace, let me help you fight. We can do this together.”

Charles nodded in agreement. “We’re strong. You’ve seen what we can do. We even injured Jonathan.”

Wallace turned to them, his expression somber. “Jonathan is strong, stronger than I am. He wanted you to defeat him, so he held back. But at full power? He could wipe out everyone in this facility. And with the seals my brother has, that even includes himself.”

He paused, his gaze steely as he looked at them. “Stay inside. I’ll defend the door. The attackers are going to eliminate every powerful member currently here, the Slayer, your teacher, and I. The rest of the Awakened in this facility pale in comparison to us. With Jonathan and my brother absent, we are this facility’s last line of defense.”

With that, Wallace turned and left the office, closing the door behind him. He stood outside, the weight of the facility’s safety resting on his shoulders.

It didn’t take long for the attackers to arrive. Mockingbird and Frost appeared at the end of the hallway, their eyes locked on Wallace as they approached with lethal intent.

“What the fuck? Why weren’t you poisoned?” Mockingbird spat, frustration was evident in their voice. “Well, good news, Frost. Looks like you get to have some fun after all.”

Frost stepped forward, her cold, golden eyes narrowing as a chilling smile spread across her lips. The ground beneath her feet began to freeze with each step, an icy aura radiating from her as she prepared to engage Wallace.

Wallace stood firm, a smirk playing on his lips as he sized up the two attackers before him. “Two against one, all for someone with a non-combat ability? That hardly seems fair,” he remarked, his voice laced with mockery.

Mockingbird, unbothered by the taunt, grinned as they pulled out a sinister-looking jack-in-the-box. The toy was no ordinary plaything; its dark, polished wood was etched with intricate carvings that seemed to writhe and twist when viewed from different angles, as though the box itself was alive. The metal crank, aged and rusted, hinted at countless uses, and the latch securing the lid hummed with a faint, almost imperceptible vibration, as if something malevolent was contained within.

“Who said we were going to fight fair? All that matters is completing the mission,” Mockingbird replied, waving the jack-in-the-box in front of Wallace. “We even brought artifacts specifically to hunt you down.”

Wallace’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the object. “Artifact 0-87, Lullaby. Dangerous, indeed. And you, Frost? What toy did you bring?”

Frost, her expression as cold as her name, opened the suitcase she had been carrying. A brilliant purple glow emanated from within as she slowly pulled out a long sword. The blade was made completely out of ice that would never melt, was as clear as crystal, and as sharp as a razor. A cold mist perpetually swirled around it, freezing anything it touched. The handle was a stark contrast, made from a mysterious pitch-black material that seemed to absorb all light. In the center of the handle was a brilliant blue gem, pulsating with an ethereal glow that was the source of the sword's chilling power. The air around the sword grew frigid, and the ground beneath Frost’s feet was instantly coated in a thin layer of ice.

“Artifact 1-199, Glacier’s Edge,” Wallace observed, his voice betraying no fear. “I recognize them both. I’m glad you didn’t bring any surprises like the unknown Grade 0’s that Nikolai used on us. I can still win this, I’m confident in that.”

Mockingbird’s grin faltered slightly. “What bullshit are you spouting, Wallace? You may be strong, but you can’t win. You’re outmatched, through and through.”

Wallace’s expression turned cold as he stared them down. “Calum Nocturne, role: non-combat debuff, ability, illusion creation. Threat level compared to me? Non-existent. Sofia Elliot, role: none combat, terrain manipulator, ability, cryokinesis. Threat level compared to me? Also, non-existent. Don’t delude yourselves. You’re nothing more than toddlers that were handed shotguns.”

Calum’s expression hardened as he activated his ability, creating a swarm of illusionary clones that surrounded Wallace. The clones moved with impossible agility, performing acrobatics, flipping off walls, and encircling him in a dizzying display of movement. There were at least thirty of them, their faces a mirror of Calum’s smug confidence.

At the same time, Sofia snapped her fingers, and the ground beneath Wallace’s feet transformed into a slick sheet of ice. His legs began to freeze, the ice creeping up with a relentless chill. Snow began to fall, thick and blinding, obstructing his vision and masking the true positions of his enemies.

Yet, despite the elaborate setup, Wallace’s expression remained impassive, unimpressed. He infused his aura into the gems on his cuffs, causing them to glow with a deep, resonant light. Reaching into the purple portal that swirled beside him, Wallace pulled out a sleek black semi-automatic handgun. Without hesitation, he aimed and fired at one of the clones.

The bullet struck true, hitting the clone in the shoulder. Blood splattered across the icy ground as the clone crumpled, groaning in pain. Instantly, the remaining clones flickered and vanished, leaving only Calum standing alone, his face pale with shock.

Wallace lowered the gun, his expression cold and unyielding. “Your teamwork needs serious improvement,” he remarked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “The snow you conjured was your downfall, Sofia. It passed right through the illusions and clung to the real Calum.” As he spoke, Wallace effortlessly shattered the ice that had begun to creep up his legs, his aura flaring with a subtle but unmistakable power.

Sofia, her eyes narrowing in frustration, quickly retrieved a flask from her suitcase. The glass container was unimpressive, the kind you’d see a depressed chemistry major working with at 8:30 in the morning, but the liquid inside was anything but ordinary. The green substance emitted a faint, otherworldly glow as she tossed it to Calum. He caught it with trembling hands, downing the potion in one gulp. The wound on his shoulder began to close rapidly, and his breath steadied, but the lingering fear in his eyes remained.

Wallace watched the scene unfold, a disdainful smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “I see, so I'll have to eliminate that artifact first. It looks to be a crude, man-made storage artifact.” His tone dripped with condescension. “How utterly primitive. These gems,” he gestured to the gleaming stones embedded in his coat, “are leagues beyond that clunky piece of trash. They’re a far cry from the pathetic toys you're playing with.”

Calum's eyes narrowed in concentration, drawing upon every ounce of his aura. The room plunged into an all-encompassing darkness, the sudden void swallowing the light and sound, leaving Wallace in an abyss. He couldn’t see anything, but the ragged breathing of his opponents cut through the silence, betraying Calum’s struggle to maintain such an overwhelming illusion. But it was enough, it only had to be enough.

As Wallace strained to perceive anything in the oppressive darkness, a faint image began to take shape before him, slowly becoming clearer as the shadows receded just enough to reveal a horrifying scene. Lying on the cold, hard floor was the lifeless body of a woman. Her long brown hair fanned out around her head, framing a face dotted with freckles, a haunting contrast to her pale skin. She wore a yellow dress with delicate floral patterns, a picture of warmth and life now rendered in tragic stillness. A simple gold wedding ring gleamed faintly on her left hand, the only sign of the happiness she once knew. But it was the bullet hole, stark and brutal, marring her forehead, that commanded Wallace's attention. The sight struck him like a physical blow.

“Emma?” Wallace's voice trembled as he whispered her name, his hardened demeanor crumbling in an instant. A single tear slipped down his cheek, a silent testament to the pain that had been buried deep within him. The illusion, cruel in its precision, had torn open a wound he had fought so hard to keep sealed.