Project:Imagine

As chaos engulfed the facility, Octavian sat at his desk, seemingly unfazed by the storm outside. Smoke curled lazily from his cigarette as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the cluttered surface, flipping through the pages of a manga. It was one of those long-titled, mediocre series where the protagonist gets hit by a truck and is reincarnated into a fantasy world, becoming absurdly overpowered. His expression was one of mild amusement mixed with disdain, not for the surrounding chaos, but for the world itself.

“Sure, we’ll experience plenty of deaths,” Octavian muttered to himself, exhaling a plume of smoke, “but if I’m lucky, Frank will die. And then I’ll finally be in charge of this facility, like I should’ve been all along.”

His voice dripped with venom, the bitterness of years of being sidelined bubbling to the surface. He let out a dry chuckle, barely acknowledging the gravity of the situation.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. “Oh, poor you. What a shame that a horrid monster like you never got what you deserved.”

Octavian glanced up without moving an inch, his eyes narrowing as a figure emerged from the shadows. The man standing before him had a menacing aura, his body a tapestry of red-inked tattoos that wrapped around his muscular limbs and torso like thorned vines. His left arm gleamed—a sophisticated prosthetic seamlessly integrated with his flesh, giving him the appearance of both man and machine. His face, or what could be considered a face, was that of a black crow—a mask, or perhaps something far worse. Beady, dark eyes peered through the dim light, locking onto Octavian.

“Let’s see… your codename is Crow,” Octavian drawled, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. His voice was laced with disinterest as he finally lowered the manga. “One of the many deserters who chose to side with Nikolai, isn’t that right?”

Crow’s voice carried a low growl, filled with restrained fury. “I’m so glad the man who helped turn me into a monster remembers me.”

Octavian smirked, flicking ash from his cigarette without even looking at his former subordinate. “Don’t flatter yourself. I just happened to glance at your file yesterday while I was sorting through my records. You’re not exactly memorable.”

Crow clenched his fists, the mechanical joints of his prosthetic arm tightening audibly. “Still as much of a prick as ever, huh?”

“Some things never change,” Octavian replied, his tone as disinterested as ever. His eyes finally met Crow’s, cold and unyielding, as if the man before him was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He flicked the ashes of his cigarette onto the floor without a care. “Now, what do you want? I’m busy.”

Crow’s eyes narrowed, his voice laced with restrained fury. “Looking for you was quite a pain. What are you doing in here, lounging around, while my forces have invaded your facility? Shouldn't you be out there, fighting?”

Octavian let out a low, lazy chuckle. “I have no particular interest in the bore of battle. Ivan can handle all of you if he really puts his mind to it. Now, tell me, what exactly have you come looking for in my office?”

As if in answer, the tattoos on Crow’s body began to glow with a bloody red light. They moved, twisting and writhing like living thorns, detaching from his skin as if they had a mind of their own. The blood-red vines surged towards Octavian, intending to skewer him where he sat. But just as they made contact, they found nothing but empty space—his manga fluttering down to the floor in his place.

Crow's eyes darted around in confusion, only to feel a light pressure on his shoulder. Turning his head, he was greeted by a sight that sent a shiver down his spine: Octavian, casually perched on his left shoulder, his expression as calm and mocking as ever.

“Tattoo manipulation, hmm?” Octavian mused, as though he were observing a mildly interesting insect. His voice was calm, almost bored, as if Crow’s powers were little more than a parlor trick. “It’s a fascinating ability, though it takes far too much preparation. Useful for assassination, I suppose. Maybe I should drug you and drag you to my lab—play with you for a bit.”

Crow’s body tensed, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. He swung his hand toward his shoulder, trying to grab him, but in the blink of an eye, Octavian was gone. In a blur of motion, he reappeared—now lounging on his desk once again, as if the entire encounter had been a minor detour from his cigarette break.

“That speed…” Crow muttered, barely able to keep his voice steady.

Octavian smirked, lighting another cigarette, his eyes half-lidded with boredom. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. Did you really think your little party trick would work on someone like me?”

Crow clenched his fists, his anger boiling over. He had come here expecting to confront the man who had ruined his life, but Octavian treated him like a mere amusement. An afterthought.

“And here I thought you'd be more of a challenge,” Octavian said with a soft sigh, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “But I suppose even monsters like you can be disappointing.”

Octavian chuckled softly, his cigarette dangling lazily between his lips as Crow’s tattoos began to shift again. “I’m sure you knew this beforehand, but my ability is super speed. Sure, I’m no Flash-level hero from the comics, but it’s more than enough to toy with a brute like you.” His voice oozed with smug confidence, and he flicked a bit of ash off the edge of his desk, as though Crow’s attack was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

Crow snarled and sent his crimson tattoos hurtling toward Octavian once again. This time, Octavian moved with precision, his right arm transforming into a mass of writhing tentacles. They shot forward, meeting Crow’s tattoos head-on and stopping the attack cold. The ink twisted and reformed in midair, condensing into a floating crimson orb, swirling ominously.

Octavian stared at the orb with a blank expression, barely registering its threat. Suddenly, the orb exploded outward, spreading into dozens of ink bullets that shot toward him like a deadly rain. But as the bullets closed in, blue scales manifested across Octavian’s body, covering him from head to toe. Each projectile struck the scales, ricocheting off harmlessly with a metallic ping.

“Come on, Crow,” Octavian said, his voice laced with disappointment. “Is this really the best you can do? I was expecting at least some level of creativity.”

Crow’s eyes burned with fury as he charged forward, all of his tattoos retreating back to his body before flowing into his right arm. In an instant, they solidified into a large, wickedly sharp scythe made entirely of blood-red ink. With a primal roar, he swung the weapon at Octavian with all his strength. The blade slashed through the air, carving a path straight through Octavian’s right arm, severing it cleanly at the elbow.

But there was no blood.

Crow’s expression flickered with confusion as he saw the stump where Octavian’s arm had once been. No blood spilled from the wound, and no cry of pain escaped Octavian’s lips. Instead, he simply dodged the follow-up strike aimed at his head, moving with an unnatural grace as he crouched low, hovering near the discarded arm.

Before Crow could even blink, something horrifying happened. From the stump of Octavian’s arm, black tentacles sprouted like living vines, writhing and coiling around one another. They twisted and knotted together until they formed a new arm—a replica of the one that had been severed, as if nothing had happened.

Octavian straightened, flexing the new limb casually. The severed arm on the ground disintegrated into dust, leaving no trace behind.

Octavian's grin widened as he rolled his newly regenerated arm, the blue scales shimmering ominously in the dim light of the office. “Nice try,” he remarked, testing the flexibility of his arm before cracking his knuckles. “But you’ll need a lot more than a fancy scythe to bring me down. Now, let’s stop with these little games, shall we?”

Crow, his hands trembling with barely contained fury, tightened his grip on the scythe. His body tensed, every muscle coiled and ready to strike, but there was something different in his posture now—uncertainty. He glared at Octavian, sweat dripping from his brow. “What the hell are you? How many innate abilities do you possess?” he snarled, his voice faltering with frustration.

Octavian’s lips curled into a smug smile, the blue scales gleaming brighter as they caught the faint light. His body emanated a cold, predatory aura. “Me? I’m someone far beyond your comprehension, Crow. But don’t worry, you’re about to find out just how terrifying I can really be.” His words were casual, but there was a darkness behind them—a promise of something dreadful.

Crow’s eyes widened, a flash of fear crossing his face before he quickly masked it with bravado. “You’re a freak. A monster,” he spat, raising his scythe as though it could ward off the horror in front of him.

Octavian laughed softly, a low, mocking sound that echoed through the room. “Monster? No, I’m just a scientist—a curious one at that.” His crimson tentacle hair twirled around his fingers as he spoke, the movements strangely hypnotic. “You see, after my little… encounter with the Boogeyman, I decided I couldn’t allow myself to be humiliated like that again. So I pushed the boundaries of what our bodies can handle. Fused myself with a few more creatures than the standard limit of three.”

Crow’s face twisted in disbelief. “You… broke the limit?”

Octavian gave a mock bow, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Indeed. You’ve already met my octopus DNA, and it seems you’ve gotten quite familiar with it. But let me introduce you to something far more elegant.”

As he spoke, sea dragon horns sprouted from his head, curling wickedly as they gleamed under the fluorescent light. The blue scales that adorned his body crept up his neck and down his arms, forming a deadly, armored sheen. His tentacle hair slicked back as he adjusted his posture, standing taller and more menacing than before. “Meet the sea dragon,” he said with a wicked grin, his voice as smooth as silk.

“Is there nothing you won’t do for power?” Crow muttered, his voice shaking with anger.

Octavian chuckled. “If anyone here is a monster, Crow, it’s you. I know exactly what you are beneath that mask. You can’t hide your true nature from me.”

Crow’s grip on the scythe tightened, his breathing heavy as anger and panic warred within him. “Shut up! SHUT UP!” he roared, charging at Octavian with the scythe held high.

But Octavian was faster. With a calm, almost bored expression, he inhaled deeply before unleashing a dragon’s roar, a powerful blast of water erupting from his mouth. The torrent hit Crow like a freight train, hurling him backward and slamming him into the far wall. His body skidded across the floor.

Octavian didn’t let up. His right arm morphed into a mass of tentacles, now covered in those same glistening blue scales. They shot out toward Crow, each tendril writhing and lashing with deadly precision.

Crow, barely able to stand, reformed his scythe into a large, blood-red shield just in time to block the incoming attack. The tentacles slammed into the shield with a thunderous crack, sending vibrations through Crow’s body, but he managed to hold his ground.

“Still standing, are we?” Octavian mused, his tone laced with mock admiration. In a blur of motion, he used his super speed to appear right in front of Crow, his hand darting forward with blinding speed. Before Crow could react, Octavian grabbed his mask.

“Let’s see what’s really underneath, shall we?” Octavian hissed, ripping the mask away with a single tug.

Crow stumbled back, his breath ragged and frantic. Where his face should have been, there was a grotesque, writhing mass. A massive centipede, its many legs wriggling and shifting, stretched across where his human features should have been. The creature’s many legs twitched, and its segmented body pulsated with a sickening rhythm, as if it were still trying to hide itself behind the now-absent mask.

“Well, well, well,” Octavian said, his voice filled with cruel amusement. “Who was the monster here again?” He grinned, the sight of Crow’s true form only fueling his twisted satisfaction.

Crow let out a distorted, inhuman screech, his centipede face thrashing violently as he swung the scythe in desperation. But Octavian was already moving, dodging effortlessly out of the way with his super speed, leaving Crow to flail uselessly.

The grotesque centipede head, shot forward with alarming speed, its mandibles wide and snapping toward Octavian’s throat. Simultaneously, Crow’s tattoos surged from his body, firing like bullets, each thorn aimed with deadly precision. But Octavian’s smirk never wavered. His form blurred, slipping through the onslaught with effortless grace, his super-speed making the attacks seem almost laughable.

“Honestly, maybe you should have kept that mask on. You’re hideous, what a sickening sight,” Octavian chuckled, the taunt rolling off his tongue with malicious glee as he sidestepped another of Crow’s frenzied attacks.

Crow snarled in frustration, his inhuman form quivering with rage. Without warning, his prosthetic arm extended, and a wickedly sharp needle shot out, slicing cleanly through Octavian’s arm in one swift motion.

Octavian barely blinked, watching his severed arm fall to the ground. “Again with the arm,” he muttered nonchalantly. Even as the ink from Crow’s needle began to seep into the wound, Octavian’s flesh writhed and shifted, tentacles sprouting from the stump and reforming into a fully functioning arm within moments.

Crow’s eyes, though masked by the writhing centipede on his face, gleamed with vicious intent. The ink from his needle slithered around Octavian like living chains, twisting into jagged thorns that sought to crush and bind him. But Octavian’s blue scales glimmered, the hard armor protecting him from the worst of the constricting force.

Still, the binding held him in place for a moment longer than Crow needed. More ink poured from the prosthetic, forming a massive hammer in Crow’s hands. With a roar, Crow swung the hammer down toward Octavian’s head.

The impact landed with a sickening crack, the scales protecting Octavian’s skull but still leaving a dent in his defenses. Octavian gritted his teeth, feeling the force of the blow reverberate through his body. It had been a while since someone actually managed to hurt him, however slightly.

“Not bad,” Octavian admitted, his eyes gleaming with a spark of amusement. “But still not enough.”

With a sharp inhale, he summoned the power of his sea dragon DNA. Water swirled around him, creating a churning vortex that tore through the ink bindings with ease. The vortex expanded outward, crashing into Crow with the force of a tidal wave, sending him hurtling backward across the room.

Crow slammed into the far wall, his ink hammer disintegrating as he struggled to regain his footing. Octavian stood at the center of the vortex, his blue-scaled form surrounded by swirling water, tentacle hair whipping in the storm he had created.

“Let’s be honest,” Octavian said, his tone light, almost playful. “You were never really going to win, were you?”

Crow growled, his centipede head twitching erratically, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his movements now. He was starting to understand just how outmatched he was.

“Still, I have to admit,” Octavian continued, cracking his neck as the vortex of water receded. “You’re a persistent little pest. But I’ve dealt with worse.” His gaze narrowed, the playful gleam in his eyes replaced with a dangerous intensity. “Now, it’s time to put you out of your misery.”

Octavian’s smirk twisted into a snarl as his patience wore thin. With a flick of his wrists, multiple sickles of water shot from his hands, their edges gleaming with lethal intent. They sliced through the air with frightening speed, crashing against Crow’s body like the relentless assault of a storm. Crow’s tattoos surged to the surface, wrapping around his form like a defensive barrier, deflecting some attacks but not all.

“Just die already, you trash,” Octavian hissed, his voice laced with frustration as he delivered a powerful kick to Crow's side, sending him sprawling further across the floor.

The water sickles multiplied, striking Crow again and again. Blood spattered across the room as his tattoos struggled to keep up with the unyielding onslaught. Each impact left jagged cuts along Crow's body, and yet he refused to fall. Octavian’s annoyance grew with each passing second, his expression darkening as his attacks became more vicious.

“Die already!” Octavian growled, kneeling down next to Crow, his fists slamming into Crow’s body with bone-crushing force. Each punch was accompanied by the sickening crack of breaking bones, the blue scales on his knuckles dripping with blood.

Crow’s body twitched beneath him, his defenses faltering but not breaking. Octavian’s eyes flared with cold fury, his words dripping with venom. “You worthless trash. Die.” His fists came down again, over and over, each blow more brutal than the last, until Crow’s body seemed on the verge of collapse.

But in an instant, Crow’s body shifted, and a dozen black spikes erupted from his skin. Octavian’s reflexes kicked in as he leaped backward, narrowly avoiding being impaled, though several of the spikes still tore through his side, puncturing his blue-scaled armor and drawing blood.

“Damn,” Octavian spat, clutching his bleeding side. His eyes flickered with a dangerous glint as he realized his mistake. “I forgot about your other ability. That was sloppy of me.”

Crow’s tattoos reformed, the thorns still embedded in his skin, dripping with red ink. He staggered to his feet, his breath labored, but a twisted grin spread across his face. “You’re not invincible after all,” he rasped, blood trickling from his mouth.

Octavian stood tall, wiping the blood from his lips. “No… I'm not invincible,” he admitted, his voice cold and measured. “But I'm far from done. And I think it's time I stop playing with my food.”

With a wave of his hand, the sickles of water reformed, swirling around him like serpents, sharper and deadlier than before. His eyes narrowed, locked onto Crow with a predator’s focus.

As the serpents of water launched from Octavian’s hands, they slammed into Crow, propelling him through the wall with a violent crash. Dust and debris filled the air as Crow’s body disappeared into the wreckage, the serpents coiling back around Octavian’s arm, ready to finish the job.

Just as Octavian prepared to summon a powerful vortex, a sudden impact knocked the wind out of him. A large crystal, gleaming with an unnatural light, had embedded itself in his torso, sending him careening backward, crashing into the wall opposite the one Crow had been thrown through. Octavian winced, his body straining as he tried to pull the shard from his side.

Out of the shadows stepped a figure. A woman with long, unkempt black hair and gray eyes, their lifeless gaze emphasized by the heavy bags under them. Freckles dotted her pale skin, and she wore a flowing white robe over gray clothing that gave her an almost spectral appearance. Despite the surrounding chaos, she looked weary, as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

“What a mess you've gotten yourself into, my dear friend,” she sighed, almost disappointed. “Honestly, this is why I told you to bring an artifact.”

“Diamond?” Crow's voice crackled through the rubble, his body battered but still moving. He staggered to his feet, tattoos flickering back to life across his skin. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be following Nihil.”

Diamond, barely acknowledging Crow’s words, brushed some dirt off her robe. “That bastard’s here,” she replied, her voice devoid of emotion. “I followed him. He arrived shortly after the invasion started. Though I don’t know where he’s gone now.” She glanced at the wreckage where Crow stood, then back to Octavian, who was still struggling to remove the crystal.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” Crow muttered, pulling himself free of the rubble.

Suddenly, a chilling voice broke through the silence. “Excuse me,” came the cold, calculated tone from behind Octavian, startling him. “Would you like some assistance with these two?”

Octavian whirled around to find another figure standing directly behind him. He hadn’t even sensed his approach. The man wore a white mask, emotionless and blank, with no indication of who—or what—lay beneath it. His black cloak flowed eerily, adorned with twisting vines and pale white roses. A crown of the same roses rested atop his head. The long white hair that cascaded down his back was stark against his pitch-black clothing, a contrast that made him seem almost otherworldly.

“I’d appreciate the help, but who exactly are you?” Octavian asked, yanking the crystal from his side and tossing it aside.

“You may call me Nihil,” the man answered, his voice calm, controlled, and devoid of any warmth. He regarded Octavian with a chilling gaze from behind his mask, not a single emotion betraying his intent.

Diamond sighed again, glancing from Nihil to Crow. “This man has been such a pain to deal with,” she muttered, her gray eyes flicking between the two opposing forces. “Crow, get ready. We’re far from done here.”

As Nihil stepped forward, a sense of cold emptiness filled the room, a void that seemed to swallow sound and light itself. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the oppressive stillness he created.

Octavian, feeling the weight of Nihil’s presence, smirked despite himself. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Nihil extended his hand, and in an instant, a spear materialized—an elegant yet ominous weapon. The spear gleamed a pristine white, its shaft wrapped in intertwining white roses, the thorns sharp and cruel. The roses seemed to pulse with life, their petals shimmering faintly in the dim light. It was as if the spear itself was not a weapon, but an extension of Nihil's essence, something far more dangerous than it appeared. Its presence carried an unsettling weight, like the calm before a violent storm.

“En garde,” Nihil said, his voice chillingly calm, as if the ensuing battle was nothing more than a formal dance. His eyes, hidden behind the blank mask, radiated a terrifying certainty, as though he already knew the outcome.