Project:Imagine

As Iris stepped into her dorm room, the atmosphere felt charged, heavy with a heat that pulsed from the air itself. Her gaze immediately fell on the red book resting on her desk. Around it, orange flaming butterflies fluttered in an erratic dance, their wings crackling like miniature bonfires. The familiar sight signaled another letter from her future self, but something was distinctly different this time. The butterflies burned with an intensity that went beyond the norm, their fiery glow flaring up in harsh bursts, as if each flutter of their wings carried a suppressed rage. The heat they radiated was palpable, almost stifling, prickling her skin even from across the room.

Iris approached cautiously, her fingers twitching with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Her instincts screamed at her to be careful, to prepare for something far more urgent than the usual cryptic warnings. As she reached the book, she noticed that the butterflies’ paths were less graceful than before; they darted sharply, as though agitated by an unseen force.

With a steadying breath, Iris reached out and flipped open the red book, bracing herself for whatever message awaited inside. The page didn’t just glow—it flared, an eruption of light spilling from the ink as if it, too, shared in the butterflies' fury. Her eyes scanned the page, absorbing the hastily scrawled words that seemed to seethe off the paper.

The flames danced across the page, flickering angrily as Iris read the letter from her future self. Each word seemed to smolder, dripping with frustration and a touch of disbelief.

“You absolute idiot. Never, in any version of my life, was I ever sent to detention. I can't believe this. How could you let this happen? If I could reach back through time, I’d strangle some sense into you! I’ve heard horror stories about that place—mostly from Charles, but to actually end up there? It’s almost embarrassing. When I had that same confrontation, I didn’t get into a fight like some reckless hothead!”

The next lines were written with a more measured hand, as though her future self had taken a moment to calm down.

“I’m sorry. I got a bit carried away. It’s not entirely your fault. If I hadn’t told you about Anya’s true identity, you probably wouldn’t have been so on edge around her. Though I have to admit, I’m a bit worried now that you've ended up with that psycho as your new teacher. Anastasia’s combat skills are legendary, and you’ll learn a lot, there’s no denying that, but just watch your back. She doesn’t know the meaning of holding back.”

The flames on the edge of the page flared up momentarily before settling back down, leaving a slight scorch mark along the bottom of the letter.

“Now, about tomorrow’s Joint Training Event. Just go into it with an open mind and try to have some fun. When I went through it, there were no incidents, aside from our class getting crushed. But more importantly, try to make a good impression on Maxwell. Trust me when I say, that might be more important than you realize.”

The final lines were written in an elegant, looping script, as if her future self was putting extra emphasis on the closing words.

“Good luck, my past self. Remember, every decision you make shapes us both.”

“—Your future self, Iris Blackwell.”

The flickering flames that had danced so vividly around the letter died down, leaving behind a faint, smoky heat. Iris could feel an unsettling sense of urgency radiating from the final words of her future self. It was as if the letter wasn't just a warning but a desperate attempt to reach out through time.

Meanwhile, far in the future, the air was thick with tension. Future Iris sat within the confines of her gilded birdcage, her eyes burning with both defiance and exhaustion. She had just finished the letter to her past self. The moment her task was complete, she could feel his eyes upon her, hungry, amused, and maddeningly calm.

The red-haired demon, lounged against the bars of her cage, his expression a mockery of delight. His fanged grin stretched wide as he watched her closely, a vicious gleam flickering behind his eyes.

“Do you really believe that, Iris? That there will be no incidents at the Joint Training tomorrow?” he asked, his voice dripping with twisted amusement.

Her fiery gaze snapped up to meet his. “What do you mean by that, you damned devil?” she growled, her voice laced with suspicion.

Devil's smile widened, a malicious glint flashing across his face. “Tell me, what do you remember about the Queen's Garden?”

Future Iris narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking about them now?” she spat. “They were a band of villains who went on a bloody rampage when the cataclysm began. Every single one of them became Awakened after the Tokyo Incident. They left a trail of corpses everywhere they went.” Her voice dripped with venom as she continued, the memories surging back like a dark tide.

Devil leaned in closer, his voice a smooth, poisonous whisper. “Good. Now, list them off for me, each member. Your memory is quite impeccable, after all.”

She rolled her eyes, but a deep-seated unease quickly overshadowed the irritation. “Fine,” she began. “First, there was Noah, the Poisoner. That wretch spread pestilence and death like wildfire, wiping out entire cities. Then there was Rook, the face-changer. A spy who could slip into any organization and vanish without a trace. He wasn’t as dangerous as the Boogeyman, but he caused enough chaos. Split-Face Sarah was a real challenge—a regenerating menace who could make clones of herself no matter how many times I killed her. Her brother, the vampire Ashe, was even worse, controlling hordes of ghouls that seemed endless.”

She paused, the memories stinging like an old wound reopened. “But the worst was their leader, Cynthia. Dead-Face Cynthia, a walking nightmare. She wasn't even Awakened, but the curse she carried… it was like death incarnate. Her massacres left behind countless bodies.”

Devil’s grin twisted further into a smirk. “Good, very good,” he said, producing a slip of paper seemingly out of thin air. “Now, read the class roster for Maxwell’s class.” He handed it to her with a flourish.

Iris took the paper with a frown, her eyes darting over the names. As she read each one, her blood ran cold, and a terrible realization gripped her. Her hands trembled, igniting the paper in a flare of anger. She leaped to her feet, summoning a blazing sword into her grip, and lunged at the Devil. “What did you do, you bastard?” she shouted, slashing at him wildly.

He dodged with infuriating ease, his movements flowing like water. “I merely made some adjustments to the timeline, Iris,” he taunted, his voice a venomous purr. “Maxwell’s class was filled with nobodies, a bunch of background characters that weren’t worth a second glance. I thought I’d spice things up a bit.”

Iris’s eyes blazed as she sent a volley of flaming arrows in his direction. “You’ve turned those future villains into Maxwell's classmates! Those names—those are members of the Queen's Garden! What have you done?” she cried, desperation bleeding into her voice.

Devil laughed, the sound echoing with pure malevolence. “You claimed your wish was to save everyone, Iris. You wanted to be a hero, to change the future, and prevent the tragedies to come. But why limit yourself to just saving your classmates? Why not save the villains, too?” His eyes gleamed with wicked delight. “Let’s see if you can save the future monsters before they become monsters.”

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. He had set her on a path where she would face not just the enemies of tomorrow, but the classmates of today, the same friends and allies she would need to protect. Her hands tightened around her fiery blade as she gritted her teeth.

“You’ve twisted the future into your own sick game,” Iris growled, her voice trembling with fury. “But I swear, I will stop you. I will save them all.”

Devil’s laughter reverberated throughout the gilded cage, a haunting symphony of mockery. It echoed long after his voice faded, clinging to the air like a cursed fog. “Then let the game begin, Iris. Let’s see if your resolve burns brighter than fate itself. Oh, and I’d appreciate it if you could call me by my actual name. I’d love to hear it roll off your tongue.” His eyes gleamed with a draconic intensity, challenging her to say it.

“You prideful bastard,” she spat, hatred and defiance lacing every syllable.

He grinned wider, the corners of his lips curling into something almost feral. “Yes, that’s right. Now say it,” he coaxed, his voice a low, taunting purr, his crimson eyes boring into her with a sick amusement.

She gritted her teeth, a venomous glare in her eyes. “Superbia, the Sin of Pride.”

“Good girl,” Superbia murmured, a wicked smile spreading across his face. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to pet her head, as if she were nothing more than a caged animal. “Look forward to tomorrow’s festivities. I bet your past self will find it quite… exhilarating,” he whispered, his fingers lingering in her hair with a patronizing gentleness. It sent a shiver of disgust down her spine.

His laughter grew louder, the sound warping into a sinister melody. His crimson hair flowed like wildfire as he spun on his heel, his draconic horns gleaming sharply in the moonlight that seeped through the bars. Scales the color of dried blood rippled across his arm, and his tail, long and coiled, swayed like a serpent. He danced across the confines of the cage, his steps graceful and deliberate, as though mocking her helplessness.

“Care to join me for a dance?” he asked, extending a clawed hand towards her with a flourish. “Who knows? Tomorrow may be the day your past self meets her end.”

“Go to hell,” Iris shot back, her voice a venomous hiss.

Superbia chuckled, the sound dark and low. “Suit yourself,” he said with a casual shrug, his tail flicking idly behind him. “But I wonder… how will you react when your past self dies? When you have to watch everything unravel, helpless to change it?” His smile twisted into a smirk, fangs glinting wickedly. “I should warn you, Cynthia will awaken much sooner than last time. I’ve ensured she’ll be quite the early riser.”

The words sent a jolt of alarm through Iris. “You’re lying!” she snapped, desperation flickering in her voice despite her defiance.

“Am I?” Superbia’s eyes glowed with sadistic delight as he turned his back to her, waving off her concern as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze. “Sleep well, Iris. You’ll need your strength,” he added, his voice echoing like the fading hum of a distant storm. He strutted out of the chamber with an insufferable air of superiority, leaving behind the unsettling stillness and a silence that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Iris collapsed to her knees, her fists clenched tight enough for her nails to draw blood. Her heart thundered in her chest, her breath ragged. She could still feel the weight of his hand on her head, the casual touch of a demon who saw her struggle as mere entertainment.

But she wouldn’t let him win. No matter what twists and turns lay ahead, she would shatter his cruel game, tear apart the fate he sought to impose upon her.

The morning began as the students buzzed with anticipation. Iris slipped into her seat, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous energy in the air. The surrounding chatter was a constant hum, as her classmates eagerly awaited the arrival of the Beta Facility students for the joint training event.

Mrs. Stone entered the room, her footsteps were soft yet commanding. She glanced around at her lively class and raised a hand to quiet them. “Alright, everyone, settle down,” she began, her voice firm but laced with a hint of humor. “In about an hour, our guests from the Beta Facility will be joining us. I hope you’re all prepared.”

She paused, her eyes drifting over to Iris, Anya, and Charles. “Before we continue, Jonathan has asked me to deliver a special message to you three, please stop destroying rooms in the facility.” Her gaze lingered on Anya, her brow arched in question. “And Anya… I need to know. Where exactly did you get not one, but two chainsaws?”

Anya’s eyes darted away as she gave a nonchalant whistle, her lips curling into a sly grin. “I, uh, found them?” she said, her voice dripping with mischief.

Mrs. Stone sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Of course you did. Well, let me make this perfectly clear, if you must fight each other, do it under teacher supervision. We’re trying to maintain some semblance of order here.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Stone. I won’t do it again,” Iris offered, sounding sincere.

“I definitely will,” Charles added with a shrug, a mischievous spark in his eye.

“Yeah, same,” Anya chimed in, her tone unapologetic.

Mrs. Stone shook her head with a sigh. “I suppose one out of three is better than none. You all are a handful, you know that?”

A hand shot up from the back of the room. “Uh, Mrs. Stone, what about me?” Jacob asked, his voice tinged with curiosity. “What am I supposed to do while the event’s happening?”

“You’ll be on the sidelines, cheering for your classmates,” Mrs. Stone replied, giving him an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can offer.”

Jacob grinned. “It’s fine! I’m sure our class will win. No contest.”

Across the room, Theo’s voice rumbled with quiet intensity. “If anyone tries to hurt my sister, I’ll crush them,” he declared, his gaze unwavering.

Celia reached over to pat his arm. “Brother, you’re being scary again. Let’s not threaten people before the event even starts,” she said, her tone lighthearted but with a hint of concern.

Amid the exchange, Xavier was slumped over his desk, completely oblivious to the excitement. Mrs. Stone snapped her fingers, conjuring a ball of water that flew across the room, splashing him square in the face.

Xavier jolted upright, rubbing his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m awake,” he grumbled, shooting his teacher an annoyed glance.

Mrs. Stone’s lips curled into a smile as she surveyed the room. “Good, because this event is going to be a lot of fun. But don’t forget to keep your head on straight. There’s more to this than just winning.” Her gaze grew thoughtful, as though considering something far beyond the classroom walls. “Today’s going to be… interesting, to say the least.”

A ripple of anticipation spread through the students, the energy in the room intensifying as the clock ticked down to the event. Iris clenched her fist under the desk, the words from her future self’s letter ringing in her ears. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but one thing was certain, whatever happened today, she’d be ready.

The classroom door burst open with a resounding crash, and Anastasia strutted in, dragging a bulging suitcase behind her. Guns of various sizes jutted out from the hastily packed case, some almost falling to the floor with each step. She wore a pair of sleek black sunglasses, her lips curled into a cocky grin as she waved to the startled students. Without hesitation, she pushed Mrs. Stone aside with a casual shove, eliciting a sharp glare from the older woman.

"Hello, everyone! I’m your new combat teacher," Anastasia declared cheerfully, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. "I’m looking forward to seeing what you all are made of today."

Mrs. Stone's expression tightened as she stepped forward, reclaiming her space with a stern look. "Anastasia, leave my classroom. You were supposed to wait in the gym for the event to start," she commanded, her voice cool and unwavering.

Anastasia chuckled, her grin widening. "Make me. I’d love to see you try," she taunted, raising an eyebrow as if daring Mrs. Stone to act.

Without missing a beat, Mrs. Stone conjured a slender rapier of swirling water, its liquid form glinting dangerously in the light. "In combat, a quick strike to the neck will end things swiftly," she said, lunging at Anastasia with fluid grace. The watery blade sliced through the air, aimed directly at her throat.

Anastasia’s eyes flashed as she activated her ability, slipping into a state where the future played out like a vivid picture before her. She sidestepped the rapier with ease, snatching a pistol from her suitcase as she vaulted back. In a split second, she fired at Mrs. Stone, only for the bullets to thud harmlessly into a watery barrier that sprang up between them.

"Not bad," Anastasia murmured, pulling a second pistol from her hip and aiming it at her own temple, reading the movements yet to come. With a grin, she squeezed the trigger, and the bullets found their mark, striking Mrs. Stone's leg with pinpoint accuracy.

Mrs. Stone winced, her leg buckling slightly as she glared at Anastasia. "You’re the worst," she grumbled, her voice strained.

Anastasia's laughter echoed through the classroom. "Oh, come on, Mia. Lighten up—we're just having a bit of fun," she teased, her eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and challenge.

Before Mrs. Stone could respond, Baal strode into the room, his presence instantly filling the space with a suffocating tension. His gaze landed on Mrs. Stone, who was struggling to rise, and his expression darkened. A deadly gleam flickered in his eyes, a warning that made the air grow cold.

Anastasia's vision flared as she glimpsed a potential future: Baal’s hand tearing her arm from its socket in a brutal display of rage. The sight was enough to make her blood run cold. Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees, the smugness draining from her face as quickly as it had appeared.

“Please, I was just messing around. Don’t—” Her voice trembled as she bowed her head, practically begging.

Baal’s eyes never left Mrs. Stone as he approached, the intensity in his gaze softening just slightly as he reached out a hand. "Here, let me help you up," he said, his tone gentle and completely at odds with the lethal aura that had filled the room only moments before.

Mrs. Stone took his hand, a small but genuine smile forming on her lips. "Thank you, Baal," she murmured, a hint of relief seeping into her voice as she steadied herself.

Meanwhile, in the back of the classroom, Anya whispered to Iris, her eyes wide with awe. "That lady is terrifying, but that guy is even scarier."

Iris nodded, her breath catching as she exhaled slowly. "Agreed," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She's a nightmare… but he's the kind you don't wake up from."

The room remained silent for a heartbeat longer, the students acutely aware that they had just witnessed something far more dangerous than a sparring match. As the tension finally began to ease, Anastasia stood up slowly, a forced smile creeping back onto her face, though the glint in her eyes had dulled.

"Well, class," Anastasia said, dusting herself off and attempting to reclaim her cocky demeanor. "Looks like things just got a little more interesting."

Mrs. Stone's gaze remained cool as she addressed the students. "Baal will be staying within the facility until we can find a more suitable arrangement," she announced.

Baal grinned and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "I'm staying right here. There's no way I'd ever leave my future wife," he declared, his voice brimming with affection.

Mrs. Stone’s face flushed slightly as she elbowed him in the ribs, her stern expression betraying a hint of embarrassment. "Knock it off. I’m at work," she chided, giving him a light smack on the head.

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry," Baal said, rubbing the spot where she’d hit him. His smile remained, undeterred.

Their banter was interrupted as Jonathan entered the room, his presence commanding the attention of the class. "Alright, everyone," he said, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. "Follow me to the gym—the students from the Beta Facility have arrived."

Anastasia tilted her head, raising an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing here, Johnny? I figured you'd be too busy to chaperone."

Jonathan’s eyes flickered with a rare hint of amusement. "I have a special interest in this class," he replied cryptically, motioning for the students to follow him.

As they entered the gymnasium, the sight before them was almost surreal. At the center of the chaos was a skeleton-like figure seated atop a coffin, casually scrolling through his phone as if the surrounding pandemonium was of no consequence. A boy with pink hair stood nearby, his face twisted into an expression of mild irritation as twin girls darted around him, giggling and teasing each other. Off to the side, a red-haired boy sat with his nose buried in a book, seemingly indifferent to the commotion unfolding around him.

There was also a blind boy who beamed with a cheerful expression, his eyes unseeing but filled with a strange sense of delight, as if he could feel the energy in the room. A purple-haired girl leaned against the wall, her posture slouched as she looked down, a dark and sickly aura clinging to her like a shadow.

Finally, Iris's eyes landed on the last student—a boy with striking orange hair. The moment she saw him, she felt an undeniable pull, a sense that went beyond mere curiosity. It was as if some invisible thread connected the two of them, binding their fates together in a way that transcended the present moment. His gaze met hers, and in that instant, Iris knew that this boy—Maxwell Lumiar, was not just another face in the crowd. He was the other player in the cruel game that fate had cast her into.