Project:Imagine

“I must say,” Ivan began, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he watched the heated game unfold on the court. “Despite lacking a consistent combat instructor, your students are impressively skilled. Their talents are undeniable.”

Jonathan stood with his arms crossed, with a proud but measured smile as he surveyed the battlefield. “Their success isn’t because of us,” he replied. “The majority of them are prodigies in their own right. This class is something special—these students are the ones who will leave a mark on the world, shaping its future in ways we can only imagine.”

Ivan leaned back, still grinning. “Of course, I believe you. But mark my words, Jonathan: no matter how extraordinary they may be, they all pale compared to Maxwell and Ashe.”

Jonathan let out a soft chuckle, glancing over at the bleachers where Ashe sat, still nursing his earlier defeat. “Ashe?” he scoffed. “You mean the same student who was eliminated first? Not exactly the poster boy for unparalleled skill.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Ivan waved a hand dismissively. “He may have gotten knocked out early, but don’t be fooled. He’s still a force to be reckoned with. As for Maxwell, he’s more than capable of carrying the rest of the students to victory.”

Jonathan's gaze returned to the court, where Maxwell stood like a radiant guardian. His swords of light gleamed as though they had been forged from the heart of a star, radiating an intense, unwavering brilliance. “I can see the potential in that boy,” Jonathan admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of admiration. “He’s a monster, no doubt about it. But don't count out our own monsters just yet. I’m more than confident in their abilities.”

The battlefield was a blur of motion as dodgeballs whizzed across the court with relentless speed. Both sides were locked in a stalemate, their numbers holding steady as neither team allowed a single member to be taken out. Anya’s eyes sparkled with mischievous excitement as an idea began to form in her mind.

“Xavier, make me a knife,” she called, her tone as casual as if she were asking for a cup of tea.

Without hesitation, Xavier extended his hand. The surrounding air shimmered as an icy blade materialized, forming with perfect detail. He handed the knife to Anya, who caught it effortlessly. She grinned as she held up one of the dodgeballs she had snatched from the floor and began carving a crude but distinct face into its surface. As soon as she finished, she pressed a small, pulsating crimson orb into the newly-made 'mouth,' the ball's surface warping slightly as if it were waking from a deep slumber.

“Don't underestimate me,” Anya smirked, eyeing her creation. "I can transform anything into a doll as long as I give it a face. Jacob might not have this limitation, but the dolls I create are far stronger than his.”

Iris, hovering nearby, raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Then what about those hands you used to attack me before?” she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

“That's a trade secret,” Anya replied, her grin widening into something almost feral. Without another word, she hurled the newly animated dodgeball toward Maxwell. The ball surged forward, its painted face twisting into a snarl as it chomped down viciously, like a rabid beast thirsting for blood.

The gym erupted in chaos as Anya kept grabbing more balls, bringing each one to life with a slash of her knife and a crimson orb. Within moments, a small swarm of living dodgeballs charged across the court, their erratic movements and snapping jaws resembling a pack of hungry predators. They swarmed toward Maxwell, seeking to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

Maxwell's eyes flared, glowing with a golden intensity as his hypercognition activated, his senses heightening to an otherworldly level. Time seemed to slow for him; he could see the trajectory of each ball, anticipate the attacks, and calculate his response in a fraction of a heartbeat. In one fluid motion, he brought his swords of light, sweeping down in a wide arc. The blades traced streaks of brilliance through the air, cutting through the living balls with precise and lethal efficiency. One by one, the enchanted projectiles burst apart, their crimson cores shattering like glass.

“Too easy,” Maxwell said, his voice steady and calm. His gaze never wavered, even as the remnants of the shattered dolls fell to the floor in lifeless fragments.

Anya’s eyes narrowed as the remnants of her animated dodgeballs scattered across the floor, Maxwell’s effortless victory fueling her irritation. “Hmph, show-off,” she muttered under her breath, but there was a glint in her eye. She was already concocting her next move, her mind buzzing with possibilities.

On the other side of the court, Sarah couldn’t hide her amusement. “That one’s fun, I like her ability,” she said, grinning.

“Very mischievous,” Emily agreed, her voice carrying a hint of admiration.

Seizing the opportunity as a fresh set of dodgeballs rolled onto the court, the twins darted forward in perfect sync. They each grabbed a ball and tossed them over to Rook, who caught them with his tentacle arms.

“Hey, blondie! Hey, blondie!” Sarah and Emily sang in unison, their voices playful yet sharp as they tried to distract Charles.

Charles's brow furrowed as he attempted to focus, his telekinesis flaring to life as he tried to wrest the balls away from Rook's grasp. “They’re quite annoying,” he grumbled, his concentration wavering under the twins' incessant taunting.

Sarah's smile widened as she shared a glance with her sister. “Hey, Emily, he didn’t notice. You know what that means, right?”

Emily’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “It’s playtime.”

Unbeknownst to Charles, Sarah had kept one of the dodgeballs hidden behind her back, making it seem like Rook held all of them. With a swift motion, she hurled the concealed ball directly at him. Charles's instincts flared as he sensed the incoming projectile and immediately shifted all his telekinetic energy to block it.

That was exactly what the twins had been counting on.

“Now, Rook!” Emily shouted.

Rook acted instantly, launching the seven balls he still held. With Charles’s focus completely occupied, the barrage came at him from multiple angles, each one striking him before he could react. The onslaught was overwhelming, and Charles was taken out in quick succession.

“Stupid twins… they got me,” Charles muttered as he trudged toward the bleachers, a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration in his voice.

“You did well, Charles,” Mrs. Stone called out with a reassuring smile. “Sometimes strategy beats strength.”

Charles sighed, slumping onto the bench beside Ashe. “I’m just annoyed I got taken out so quickly. I thought I had it covered.”

Ashe gave a sympathetic nod. “Tell me about it. Trust me, I know how infuriating it is to get tricked by my sister.”

Charles let out a bitter chuckle. “Those twins really are something.”

“Sure,” Ashe said, glancing over at Sarah, who was playfully sticking her tongue out at him. “Sarah… she definitely gives me a headache more often than I'd like to admit.”

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can see that. She’s a little too good at getting under people’s skin.”

The two boys shared a moment of camaraderie, bound by the shared experience of being outwitted by the mischievous twins, as the game continued to unfold with no signs of slowing down.

The fog coiled around Pandora like a living shroud, its tendrils stretching out to obscure him from sight as he drifted through the facility’s dimly lit hallways. Anyone who glimpsed him immediately forgot they had seen anything at all, as if their minds were wiped clean by the mist. Pandora's footsteps echoed faintly, a sinister grin tugging at his lips as he wandered with no clear destination, only a desire to stir the pot.

He stopped at a seemingly random door and knocked, his voice dripping with a mocking sweetness. “Oh, brother, won’t you let me in? It’s been such a long time since we’ve talked.”

The door creaked open, and Pandora was beckoned into the Bookkeeper's domain—a vast library that seemed to stretch infinitely, filled with tomes whose contents could twist reality itself. The air was heavy with the scent of aged paper and a strange, ethereal energy. As Pandora’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, they fell upon an unexpected figure seated at a polished wooden table, sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup.

The boy was unnaturally composed, dressed in ornate blue Victorian-era attire that seemed plucked from another time entirely. His skin was alabaster, almost cadaverous, contrasting starkly with his vivid golden eyes that gleamed with a predatory light behind a monocle. He exuded an aura that seemed both whimsical and foreboding.

Pandora’s grin vanished, replaced by a look of utter shock. He dropped to his knees in a display of reverence, bowing deeply. “F-Father… what are you doing here?” he stammered, his voice trembling as if it might break at any moment.

The figure known as the Creator smiled faintly, setting his cup down with an unsettling calmness. “Just observing, my dear child,” he said, his voice smooth and rich, as if soaked in honey and venom. “Watching my children play their little games. You’re fortunate that I’m here; otherwise, you would’ve been greeted by a storm of golden spears for intruding in your brother’s domain. Such audacity is rather unwise, don’t you think?”

Pandora dared to look up, his expression still tense. “I am here only in spirit, Father. My true form remains in my own domain. I simply wished to speak with my siblings,” he explained quickly, his gaze flickering around nervously. “Do you know where Eden is? I’d like to have a conversation with both of them.”

The Creator’s smile widened, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “Eden? Oh, she’s nearby. In fact, she’s right behind you… wielding an axe.”

Pandora’s instincts screamed at him, and he spun around, his hands snapping up to form a barrier. The air shimmered and distorted as reality itself seemed to glitch and warp around the barrier just in time to catch the blade of an enormous double-headed axe. Eden’s face twisted into a snarl of frustration as her strike was halted mere inches from Pandora’s neck.

“Damn it,” she hissed, her voice seething with irritation. She wore a beautiful dress, white and flowing, her eyes cold and ruthless as the weapon in her hands.

“Now, now, children,” the Creator chided gently, his voice carrying an undercurrent of command. “Please, do not fight in my presence. It would be a rare pleasure to see my offspring get along, even if just for a moment.”

“Yes, Father,” Pandora and Eden said in unison, their tones filled with grudging obedience.

Eden lowered her axe but kept her gaze locked on Pandora, her grip on the weapon remaining firm. She walked toward the table, pulling out a chair opposite the Creator. “I’ll sit, for now,” she said, her tone laced with venom. “Though I still think it would be better if you threw this nuisance out.”

From the shadows, the Bookkeeper himself emerged, his eyes flickering with quiet disdain as he regarded Pandora. “You’re not welcome here,” he said bluntly, his voice as cold as the library’s endless rows of books. “But since Father has decided to grace us with his presence, I suppose we must tolerate your intrusion… for now.”

Pandora rose with a slow, deliberate grace, his thin smile laced with mockery. He offered a sarcastic bow. “You wound me, brother,” he said, voice dripping with false humility. “I only came to bask in the warmth of our delightful family reunion.”

The Creator, having lost interest in the escalating tension, stood from his chair with an air of nonchalance. “Enjoy yourselves, my dear children. I'm going to indulge in some light reading.” He turned to Fate with a casual nod. “You did expand the manga section as I requested, correct?”

Fate’s response was immediate, his tone crisp and businesslike. “Yes, Father. I personally recommend Shibuya Ghost, though Fully Iron Chemist also has its merits. Both should suit your taste.”

With that, the Creator strolled away into the endless expanse of books, disappearing among the towering shelves. A calm silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft crackle of reality warping around the siblings’ powers as they stared each other down.

Fate leaned back, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded Pandora. “Now, tell me what you really want, brother.”

Pandora spread his arms wide, feigning innocence. “Can’t I simply enjoy the company of my beloved family?”

Fate’s gaze darkened. “You have until the count of three to tell me what you want. After that, I'll kill you a hundred times over, without hesitation.”

Pandora’s smirk faltered for a brief second, but he quickly regained his composure. “Fine, fine. I just thought it rather rude that you two seem to be plotting behind my back. Allying yourselves against me, no less.”

Fate’s expression was stone-cold, his voice equally devoid of emotion. “And I found it rude that you snuck that girl, Anya, into the facility without my knowledge.”

“Personally,” Eden interjected, her voice sharp as the axe she still held, “I found it rude that you tried to attack both of our champions simultaneously. A blatant show of overconfidence.”

Pandora scoffed, his smile turning bitter. “Oh, and what about you two? Choosing champions that aren't even fully human? That, I would say, is the ultimate rudeness.”

Eden tilted her head slightly, her eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “She was the only one I could pick.”

Pandora’s playful facade shattered, his eyes flashing with rage. “You had eight billion choices, and you deliberately picked the one human that was off-limits. Don’t insult my intelligence, Fate. You knew damn well you couldn’t choose her!”

Tension crackled in the air as the two brothers glared at one another, the energy between them becoming palpable. Fate’s eyes burned gold as the room responded to his growing wrath. Without warning, dozens of golden spears materialized from the ground, each one lancing through Pandora's body with brutal precision, skewering him in place.

Pandora let out a low chuckle, his body twitching slightly, but showing no signs of pain. “Is that all?” he asked, his voice thick with mockery. “Authority of Error: error of damage.”

The moment the words left his lips, the spears glitched and warped, fading out of existence as if they had never been there. Pandora remained entirely unscathed, lounging back in his seat with infuriating calm.

“You should know better by now,” he said with a grin, shaking his head. “Brute force won’t work on me, brother.”

“Smug as always,” Fate muttered, his golden eyes narrowing dangerously.

Pandora's laughter echoed through the cavernous library, reverberating off the endless shelves like a haunting chorus, each chuckle mocking his siblings with venomous glee.

“Come now, Eden, why so serious?” he sneered, his eyes glinting with cruel delight. “How are my dear niece and nephew doing? Oh wait, silly me—those children aren’t yours, are they? The man you loved thought of you as little more than a convenient vehicle, a mere means to an end.” His voice dipped into a cold, mocking tone. “What a tragedy.”

Eden's grip on her axe tightened, her knuckles turning white as her eyes blazed with barely contained fury. “Shut the hell up, you bastard,” she spat, her voice trembling with rage.

Pandora’s grin only widened, feeding off her anger. “Oh, come now, dear sister. That bastard Aether used you. He toyed with your feelings, knowing full well the depth of your love for him. Played you like a fiddle? No, that’s too refined. You were played like a cheap, disposable kazoo—one you’d find in some rundown, bargain-bin store.” His voice rose, carrying a mocking melody.

Fate's gaze remained steady, but his tone was sharp as a blade. “Is that your purpose here, Pandora? To provoke us with petty jabs?”

Pandora waved his hand dismissively. “Even after Aether’s death, look at you, Eden—still desperately trying to protect his child as if he were yours.” He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with malevolence. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to take care of both him and Alice. Permanently.”

The air seemed to shatter as Eden lunged forward, her axe cleaving through the space where Pandora's head once was. His severed head fell to the ground with a dull thud, but before she could even draw another breath, reality glitched—like a corrupted recording, and his head reappeared, perfectly intact. She swung again, her movements fueled by wrath, yet each blow only caused reality to flicker, restoring him again and again.

“Calm yourself, Eden,” Fate interjected, his voice firm. “He’s enjoying your anger. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

Eden's chest heaved with rage as she halted, her knuckles still white on the axe handle. “You insufferable bastard.”

Pandora’s grin grew wider, as if her fury only served to feed his sadistic delight. “Now then, would you two like to hear my latest plan to deal with those precious children?” he asked, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Eden’s expression hardened, her rage simmering beneath the surface. “Does this have something to do with Cynthia?”

“So astute, dear sister,” Pandora sneered, his slow clap echoing through the chamber like a death knell. “Yes, indeed. Any moment now, today, in fact, she’s going to explode—quite literally—and then she’ll go on a delightful little killing spree. Won’t that be fun to watch?”

Fate’s expression shifted from composed to sharply accusatory. “Eden, why didn’t you tell me about this?” he demanded, his voice low and taut.

“I didn’t think it would be an immediate danger,” Eden replied, frustration seeping into her tone. “I used my power to lessen the curse that was placed on her. I thought I had more time—”

“More time?” Fate cut her off, incredulity flashing in his eyes. “You thought a ticking time bomb of a child wouldn’t explode precisely when both of our chosen champions happened to be together? Sister, I truly love you, but sometimes you can be so stupid it hurts.”

Pandora’s laughter interjected like a jagged knife, cutting through the tension. “Oh, don’t be so harsh on her, Fate,” he chortled. “I’m just here to make sure dear Eden doesn’t try cheating again by reviving that brat Maxwell. I’d hate to see you both stoop so low as to rewrite death’s terms.”

Eden gritted her teeth, her knuckles white around the haft of her axe. “You won’t win, brother,” she hissed, the edge of her voice a promise of retribution. “I swear it.”

Pandora raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curling into a sly grin. “And why not? You know as well as I do that the brat can’t transform into a demon right now without your meddling. Face it, you’ve placed your faith in broken pieces.”

Fate’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “And yet, I’ve still got a trick up my sleeve. You’re not the only one who can manipulate the board, Pandora.”

The tension crackled in the air as Pandora’s grin only grew wider, a gleam of dark amusement lighting his eyes. “Then let’s see who wins this little game, shall we?” His voice dripped with anticipation. “You bastard.”

Fate’s gaze was unyielding, his calm demeanor masking the steely resolve beneath. “Would you like to know why you will lose, brother?” he asked, the question hanging in the air like a sword ready to fall.

“Oh, do enlighten me,” Pandora replied, a mocking bow punctuating his words. “I’m all ears, dear brother.”

“It’s because you view your champion as nothing more than a pawn, a disposable tool,” Fate said, his voice growing cold. “But for Eden and me, our champions are not merely pieces on the board. We’d rather die ourselves than see them fall.”

Pandora’s smile faltered for a brief moment before returning with a wicked twist. “Such sentimental bullshit will be the death of you,” he spat, his voice a low growl.

“We shall see,” Fate replied, his eyes glinting like distant stars. “We shall see.”