Project:Imagine

Octavian crushed the remnants of his cigarette under his heel, the ember snuffed out in an instant. The weight of the recent confrontation still clung to him, a suffocating presence that gnawed at his already frayed nerves. His body ached, exhaustion tugging at his limbs, but there was no time for rest. With a weary sigh, he pushed himself to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate as he made his way back toward his office.

The dimly lit hallways stretched out before him, the silence heavy, broken only by the soft echo of his footsteps. As he approached the familiar wooden bookcase, he barely hesitated, his fingers moving with the precision of routine. A subtle pull on the shelf, and the hidden mechanism clicked. The entire bookcase shifted, revealing the secret elevator behind it.

Stepping inside the cold, sterile confines of the elevator, Octavian’s calm facade cracked for just a moment, his hand tightening into a fist as the doors slid shut. His descent was slow, agonizingly so, and with every second that passed, a sense of panic crept into his chest. His mind raced, replaying Nihil’s words. Four people knew. Four. He wasn’t safe. Not yet.

The doors opened with a soft hiss, and Octavian stepped out into a long corridor bathed in harsh fluorescent light. He hurried forward, moving past rows of failed experiments—grotesque, half-formed beings suspended in tanks, their lifeless eyes staring blankly into the void. Their silent presence felt like a reminder of his own failures, mocking him as he passed. He quickened his pace, the air around him thick with tension.

At last, he entered the main area, a sprawling underground laboratory filled with the hum of machinery and the frantic movements of scientists. They barely looked up from their work as he stormed in, but the atmosphere shifted immediately, the air charged with unease.

One scientist, a young man with wide, anxious eyes, dared to step forward. “Sir, what’s happening?” he asked, his voice trembling. “We’ve been hearing loud noises from the facility above. Is everything—”

The words never finished. In a blur of motion, Octavian’s fist slammed into the scientist's jaw with terrifying force, the crack of bone breaking the stillness. The man's body crumpled to the floor, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. The room fell deathly silent, every eye now locked on the lifeless body at Octavian’s feet.

Octavian exhaled sharply, his gaze sweeping over the rest of the scientists, who stood frozen in place, terror etched across their faces. His voice was low, but each word cut through the silence like a knife. “Listen up. I need this project finished. If it’s not completed by the end of the year, I will personally kill each and every one of you.”

He stepped forward, his shadow looming over them like a specter of death. “We’re close—too close, to fail now. So stop wasting my time and hurry the hell up.”

The scientists scrambled back to their workstations, fear driving their every movement. Octavian watched them for a moment, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. The weight of everything—the project, the threats, the looming shadow of the higher-ups, pressed down on him, threatening to crush him if he didn’t maintain control.

Octavian’s gaze locked onto the center tank, the one that held the centerpiece of his twisted obsession. The green liquid within bubbled softly, casting an eerie glow across the room. Suspended in the fluid was the unconscious form of Bjorn, the man who had haunted Octavian even in death. His massive frame floated lifelessly, yet the mere sight of him sent waves of fury crashing through Octavian’s chest.

With a sudden roar, Octavian slammed his fist against the thick glass of the tank, the force causing a ripple in the liquid. But the tank held firm. Bjorn's serene, unseeing face remained unmoved, still looking down on him—or at least, that’s how it felt.

“You damn bastard!” Octavian's voice cracked, thick with rage and bitterness. “I bet you think you could’ve finished this project by now, don’t you?” His fist trembled against the glass, his knuckles white. “Well, I’ll prove it! I’ll prove I’m better than you! I hate you… I hate you so much!” His voice rose, echoing off the cold, sterile walls. “Even after I finally killed you, why the hell are you still looking down on me?!”

The room fell into a tense silence, the only sound the quiet hum of machinery. The scientists stationed around the lab stood frozen, exchanging nervous glances, their fear palpable. They knew better than to interrupt Octavian’s tirade. One wrong move, one misplaced word, and he might turn his wrath on them next.

Octavian’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as his eyes bore into the floating figure of Bjorn, as if waiting for some acknowledgment, some sign of defeat from his dead rival. But the man remained unmoving, untouched by Octavian's fury. The silence felt like mockery.

He whirled around, his eyes burning with the need to vent his frustration. “Hey, you!” he barked, pointing at a nearby scientist, who flinched under his gaze. “Release one of the freaks. I need to break something.”

The scientist scrambled to obey, his hands shaking as he rushed to the nearest tank. With a press of a button, the green liquid within began to drain, revealing a grotesque figure curled up inside. The glass door slid open with a hiss, and the creature spilled out, its long, skeletal limbs stretching unnaturally.

It was a humanoid abomination, its gray skin clinging tightly to its bones, as if stretched too thin. Black, jagged claws tipped its elongated fingers, and its head, disturbingly feminine, tilted upward, locking its blank, black eyes on Octavian. The creature's face was a twisted reminder of the human it once was, a cruel parody of beauty now distorted into something monstrous.

It moved with unsettling agility, loping across the floor on all fours, its grotesque limbs bending at impossible angles. With a low, guttural roar, it launched itself toward Octavian, its mouth opening wide to reveal rows of sharp, uneven teeth.

The creature’s teeth clamped down on Octavian's arm, but instead of the satisfying crunch of flesh, it met an unyielding surface. In an instant, shimmering sea dragon scales manifested along his skin, shielding him from the attack. The abomination’s jagged teeth shattered, blood spraying from its broken mouth.

Octavian sneered, gripping the creature by its throat with one powerful hand. He slammed it to the ground with a sickening thud, pinning it beneath his weight. “I’m better than you, I'm better than all of you!” he yelled, his voice filled with hatred. Without hesitation, he began pounding his fist into its head, each blow landing with brutal force.

The creature's grayish blood splattered across Octavian's face as he continued, his punches relentless. The sound of cracking bone and splintering flesh filled the room, but he didn’t stop—not until the thing’s head was nothing more than a crushed, pulpy mass on the cold floor.

Breathing heavily, Octavian finally stood, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand. He glanced down at the lifeless corpse beneath him, the twisted form now unrecognizable. His rage had subsided, replaced by a cold emptiness.

“That feels better,” he muttered, his voice calm once more. His eyes scanned the room, settling on a nearby scientist. “Clean that up.”

The scientist nodded frantically, too afraid to speak, and rushed to comply.

Octavian turned to leave, but his eyes lingered on the tank holding Bjorn. For a brief moment, a flicker of something darker passed through his gaze—hatred, yes, but also something more insidious, inferiority. No matter how much power he amassed, no matter how many monsters he crushed beneath his heel, Bjorn’s presence was always there, looming over him, even in death.

Octavian strode through the ruined halls of the facility, his eyes scanning the carnage with a detached calm. Bodies of both enemies and agents littered the floor, blood pooling around them in a grotesque display of violence. The air was thick with the metallic scent of death, but Octavian barely noticed. His focus was elsewhere, calculating, and assessing the damage.

“I see Ivan had some fun,” he muttered under his breath. The sight of enemies torn apart in precise, brutal ways confirmed it. “Good. He is this place's main protector, after all.”

As he continued down the corridor, his steps slowed when he encountered Ivan. The towering figure was flanked by his students, who looked both impressed and slightly shaken. Ivan’s presence was commanding, his skeletal form even more intimidating after the battle.

“It seems the majority of the enemies have been neutralized," Octavian commented, his voice low but steady. “I crossed paths with two of their more formidable members, but Nikolai appeared to save them before I could finish the job.”

Ivan nodded, his hollow eyes flickering with an eerie light. “I’ve taken care of most of the threats on my end. However, I did uncover a spy from another organization. But… one of my students didn’t show up to class today. I fear something might’ve happened.” His voice, usually unshaken, carried a hint of concern.

Before Octavian could respond, Frank appeared as Maxwell trailed behind him, looking exhausted but unharmed. Frank’s usual jovial expression was gone, replaced by a cold, unsettling calm. What immediately drew their attention, however, was the absence of the nail embedded in Frank’s head—the nail that regulated his wild emotions.

Without hesitation, both Octavian and Ivan reacted. Ivan’s bones shifted, forming a sword of jagged ivory that hovered dangerously close to Frank’s throat. Octavian’s arm transformed instantly, the familiar scales of his sea dragon form rippling across his skin as razor-sharp claws pressed against the other side of Frank’s neck. The tension was palpable, as both men prepared for a possible lethal encounter.

Frank, however, didn’t flinch. His eyes, devoid of their usual warmth, stared back at them with unnerving calm. “Stop it,” he said, his voice cold, almost mechanical. “I could kill both of you with ease. Be grateful, I have no reason to.”

His words hung in the air like a threat left unspoken. Ivan and Octavian exchanged a quick glance but didn’t lower their weapons. Frank continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “I dealt with three major enemies. Though I must give credit to Maxwell here—he was crucial in handling one of them.”

Ivan’s sword remained poised, though his posture relaxed slightly. “And where exactly were you? Things became dangerous, especially when we had to search for you.” There was no accusation in his voice, only a teacher’s genuine concern.

Frank’s expression didn’t change as he calmly replied, “I invited Maxwell into my office. He’s fond of Bjorn Jr., and I didn’t realize how much time had passed. By the time I noticed, the facility was under attack, and three assassins had already come for us.”

Ivan’s hollow eyes flickered again. “Fine,” he said, lowering his bone sword at last. “But next time, inform me if you’re going to take one of my students. Especially when things are tense.”

Before the conversation could continue, Maxwell was surrounded by the twins, Sarah and Emily, their bright eyes full of excitement. “Maxwell! Maxwell! You should’ve seen it—Ivan was amazing! He exploded one of the bad guys!” they chimed in unison, their voices full of admiration.

Maxwell gave them a tired smile, but before he could respond, Ashe stepped in, her voice cutting through the excitement. “Knock it off, you two. He’s clearly exhausted. Let him rest.”

Sarah and Emily pouted in unison, folding their arms. “Come on, big brother, you’re always such a stick in the mud,” they complained.

Octavian, watching the interaction from the sidelines, couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of detachment from their lightheartedness. His mind was elsewhere—on the battle, on Bjorn, on the looming threat of A.E.G.I.S.

Rook, however, wasn’t as easily distracted. He turned to Maxwell, his curiosity piqued. “What was Frank like in combat? Ivan was really strong, but I’ve always wondered about Frank.”

Maxwell blinked, still catching his breath from everything that had happened. “I—” he started, but then he paused, his eyes widening slightly. “Wait, I just noticed that Ivan is a skeleton?”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh, clapping Maxwell on the shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, ignore that for now. Come on, I’m curious—what was Frank like in a fight?”

Maxwell’s mind flashed back to the battle, to Frank’s eerie calm and the cold efficiency with which he dispatched their enemies. “His fighting style was… terrifying. But strong,” he admitted quietly. “Very strong.”

Cynthia, leaning casually against the wall, chimed in with a smirk. “All the teachers here are monsters in one way or another. You’ll get used to it eventually.”

The group shared a brief, uneasy laugh, but there was an underlying truth to Cynthia’s words. These teachers, these protectors, were far from ordinary. They were forces of nature, each more dangerous than the last.

As the conversation continued, Octavian’s gaze drifted once again to Frank, whose blank expression hadn’t changed. The absence of the nail, the cold, detached demeanor—it didn’t sit right with him. Something had shifted, and Octavian couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before Frank’s true nature revealed itself once more.

“Octavian, I have a request for you,” Frank said, his voice calm but carrying an undertone that hinted at something darker, more dangerous.

Octavian raised an eyebrow, his draconic gaze locking onto Frank’s emotionless face. “What is it? If it’s within reason, I might consider it.”

Frank moved closer, his footsteps eerily quiet in the dimly lit hallway. He leaned in, his breath cold against Octavian's ear as he whispered, “I’m done dealing with the trash here. Anymore disrespect from these agents, and I’ll kill them on the spot. Have my office properly prepared, and let it be known, any acts of vandalism, or any slight, will be met with immediate execution.”

Octavian's eyes flickered, the words hanging in the air like a palpable threat. He tilted his head slightly, studying Frank’s new demeanor. This was a side of him that hadn’t surfaced before—an unfiltered, brutal authority that gave no room for argument.

“I understand,” Octavian said, though his tone was laced with sarcasm. “Then you’d better start acting like a proper facility manager. Or better yet, why not just go ahead and give me the position? You’re clearly struggling to keep it together.”

Frank smiled, a thin, humorless grin spreading across his face as he stepped back. “Over your dead body,” he replied, his voice cold yet tinged with amusement.

Octavian’s gaze narrowed, watching Frank retreat. He muttered under his breath, “What a pain. The punching bag finally found a spine.”

The tension lingered as Frank disappeared into the shadows, leaving Octavian to reflect on the shift in power dynamics. The agents continued their conversations nearby, unaware of the change that had just occurred.

Far away, in a distant castle shrouded in darkness, Pandora sat in his room, the air thick with the weight of his thoughts. A green door materialized in the corner, its surface rippling like liquid glass. Moments later, Eden stepped through, her expression smug as she surveyed her brother.

“Hello, sister,” Pandora greeted, his voice smooth and measured. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Eden’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “What a bold move, brother. Trying to kill both our apostles at once, and yet… you failed miserably on both accounts.” Her words dripped with mockery, each syllable a dagger aimed at his pride.

Pandora smirked, unbothered by her taunts. “On the bright side, I’ve gained a new pawn. Quite a useful one, at that.”

Eden's laugh was soft but sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. “A pawn? That man is only half an apostle, brother. We’ve gained the other half. You’re still playing with scraps.”

Pandora’s smirk deepened. “Then it’s only our dear brother who remains without any allies worth mentioning.” His tone was light, almost playful, as if the stakes of their deadly game were nothing more than entertainment to him.

Eden’s smile faded, her gaze sharpening. “Don’t be so sure about that. Your little stunt has angered the Reaper. He’s a threat far more dangerous than any you’ve faced.”

Pandora waved her words away with a dismissive hand. “The Reaper? Perhaps. But the man who controls his leash holds it tightly. He’ll never let it go.”

Eden took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. “You underestimate him, brother. You’ve greatly offended a powerful enemy. I wonder… how long will your little organization last before it crumbles?”

Pandora’s face darkened at the mention of the Reaper, but he quickly masked his irritation with a cold smile. “I’m more offended by your audacity. Reviving your apostle just as he was about to meet his end? That’s a new low, even for you.”

Eden laughed again, the sound hollow and mocking. “Oh, please. You cheated first, brother. I thought we agreed to choose children as our apostles, yet you picked an already established awakened.”

“Don’t lecture me on fairness,” Pandora snapped, his patience wearing thin. “My choice is far more balanced than the ones you and our other brother have made. At least my apostle is still human. If you want to whine, direct your anger toward Fate. That bastard is the real cheater. He picked the one person he never should have.”

Eden's smile twisted into something more sinister. “You left him with no choice. This game of yours is nothing but a thinly veiled attempt at revenge.”

Pandora’s gaze hardened, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “Can you blame me? After what that monster did to our brother… we were too weak to stop him then. But now? Now I have the chance to avenge him, to right the wrongs of the past.”

Eden’s eyes softened, if only for a moment, as she studied her brother’s face. “Goodbye, brother,” she said quietly, before stepping back through the green door.

Pandora stood at the edge of his darkened chamber, the flickering light of a solitary candle casting long shadows across his face. His eyes glowed with a cold, calculating fury as he gazed out the window into the stormy night beyond. The sound of distant thunder rumbled through the castle walls, but it was the storm brewing inside him that roared the loudest.

“How annoying,” he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. His hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm as he fought to suppress the rising tide of anger. “Players who were never meant to be part of this game… have entered it.”

His gaze darkened further, each name falling from his lips like a curse, laden with contempt. “The demon, that human-loving bastard.” His voice dripped with venom. “The snake, slithering through the shadows—always lurking, always watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And the angel, so righteous, so pure on the surface… yet rotting with madness beneath his wings.”

He turned away from the window, his mind swirling with dark thoughts of the newcomers. “All of them… intruders. Interlopers. Meddling in what they cannot comprehend. They aren't bound by the rules, yet they dare challenge me?”

Pandora’s eyes ignited with a cold, calculated resolve as he gazed at the empty frames mounted on the wall. Each frame, marked with a name, a promise. Soon, a butterfly would be added to each, Aether, Ophiuchus, and Helios. His lips twisted into a sneer, his voice a low whisper, thick with venom. “I alone must win this game. It was always meant for me—my vengeance, my triumph.”

Thunder crashed outside, as if the storm itself raged in agreement with his dark oath. His eyes flickered with a sinister gleam, and a cruel smile danced on his lips, a twisted mockery of joy.

“This game… is mine. And I will end them all.”