Even after waiting for quite some time, no response came from my Alter Ego. Deep down, I already knew it would be — he never spoke a single word. His eyes, fixed on the shadow cast by my own body, just kept staring at me silently, unwavering, as if trying to pierce through my soul.
For a moment, everything around felt colder. I sighed, resigned, letting the air slowly escape my lips, while his red eyes narrowed in my direction, as if judging every thought of mine, as if they already knew everything. Even without a voice, his presence weighed like lead on my shoulders.
For a moment, I wondered if my Alter Ego was just being stubborn — too proud to accept my decisions — or something like that. However, remembering what happened when I went to Nyara, everything began to make more sense. Back then, he simply wouldn’t let me set foot in the lake.
At the time, I admit I thought it was an exaggeration. But now I understand the real reason behind that resistance: back then, I had no idea the lake was surrounded, saturated to the brim with the suffocating presence of Nyara’s “Children” Yes, her children.
Chaotic, unstable beings who, when not under her direct control, become nothing less than the rawest and most unpredictable incarnation of chaos. It’s almost ironic if you stop to think about it — chaos in its wildest form being, in fact, chaos itself.
Anyway, with that, I can at least conclude that my Alter Ego isn’t trying to sabotage me or anything like that. On the contrary, the only plausible reason I can imagine for him interfering with my teleportation is that there’s some danger involved in using it.
Now... could that danger be me? Honestly, I highly doubt it. He has never shown any intention of forcing me not to use my powers — actually, it feels more like an attempt to warn me. As if saying, silently: “Don’t do this now” It’s not a restriction, it’s a warning.
After all, whether I like it or not, the most my Alter Ego is capable of is interfering with my powers. If I really pushed it, not even he could stop me from using them. Still, even if that were true, I simply couldn’t find any plausible reason to ignore such a direct warning coming from him.
It was as if, on some level, I knew there was something beneath the surface — something he was trying to subtly protect me from. So, in the end, I decided to honor Emily’s request and do my part... without resorting to my shadow movement power.
(Alright, you win...) I thought, releasing a subtle sigh filled with resignation: (No teleportation, then) I finished mentally, as I calmly averted my gaze, directing it toward the window overlooking the hallway.
Anyway, Victor and Rupert weren’t that far — with some agility, I could reach them in a few minutes. Still, as I moved forward, a subtle thought crept into my mind, almost like an annoying whisper: who, after all, was behind all this? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture anyone specific with the real capacity to completely compromise the organization’s defenses.
I tried to think about it for a few seconds, but soon grew tired — reflecting was never my strong suit. Honestly, I didn’t think it was worth insisting. I shoved the thought to the back of my mind, like someone drowning an unwanted idea.
Then, I turned my gaze to Nyara, who remained seated at the head of the bed. Her hand gently slid through her long hair, which cascaded over the mattress, almost hypnotic in the way it spread out, as if defying gravity.
(Nyara) I called mentally, projecting my thought so intensely that she raised her eyes, meeting mine with a curious, attentive expression: (Do you want to come with me?)
Honestly, my question wasn’t meant to be deep. I would never use my sisters for personal gain — or, to be more precise, I would never see them as either useful or useless. After all, they were all my younger sisters, and to my eyes, each of them was equally precious and adorable.
Anyway, back to Nyara, after hearing my words, her beautiful eyes shone for a moment, blinking softly. An almost imperceptible smile, filled with restrained happiness, appeared on her delicate lips, and she slowly nodded, as if that was enough to reassure her.
The next moment, I shifted my gaze to Althea, who was still floating beside me with an unsettling ease. She was upside down, legs crossed casually, her hair fluttering lightly as if floating in slow motion, while her eyes calmly surveyed the surroundings.
Honestly, I was so used to Althea’s relaxed way that I didn’t even pay much attention to how laid-back she was. I just ignored it, as I always did when she acted so carefree.
Unlike Nekra, who seemed to not care about almost anything around her, Althea wasn’t indifferent, but rather unconcerned — as if consciously choosing not to care about things.
The difference between them, though subtle, is clear: while Nekra is cold and detached, almost as if the world were distant noise, Althea maintains an almost serene lightness, a disregard bordering on tranquility. Where one emotionally withdraws, the other seems to float, as if nothing could truly disturb her.
(Althea, wait here with Nekra, okay?) I asked, while she seemed to float without hurry, as if time wasn’t an issue.
Hearing my words, Althea, who until then held a bored, indifferent look, slowly turned toward me. Her eyes shone with a mix of curiosity and stubbornness, as her voice came out with a challenging tone, almost a protest: “Ehhh! Why do I have to stay here?” she asked, puffing her cheeks like a disgruntled child.
She took a step forward, almost begging, and added, with a sly little smile: “Can’t I come with you, dear sister?”
Hearing Althea’s words, I raised an eyebrow with some disbelief: (Weren’t you the one who said you can’t attack anything, since it goes against your nature? So what’s the point of bringing you along?) My voice carried a mix of irony and questioning. As I spoke, I discreetly glanced at the visitors, who still huddled in a corner of my room, whispering among themselves, visibly uncomfortable.
(Besides) I continued, with a slight sarcastic smile: (you’d be way more useful here. Your appearance... well, it’s definitely more inviting compared to the rest of us)
Althea didn’t deny my words; deep down, she knew I was telling the truth. At first, I seemed more human than an anomaly, an almost common figure surrounded by uncertainties. But now, my current form was something completely different — a delicate and unsettling fusion of Althea, Nyara, and Nekra, carrying traits and nuances of each of them. It was as if my veins pulsed with fragments of each one’s essence, shaping me into an anomaly that didn’t fully belong to any of the worlds, but to all of them at once.
(I need you and Nekra to stand guard and protect the humans here... and, if possible, support anyone who manages to get this far) I said calmly, almost whispering, as I cast a confident look toward Althea and Nekra.
In the end, Althea gave in to my words, though still showing some reluctance. With that, Nyara and I headed toward the facility’s corridor. On the other side of the glass, the visitors watched us with curious, inquisitive eyes, their faces reflecting a mixture of surprise and silent fascination.
I, however, kept my focus on Nyara and ignored them completely, feeling the weight of that moment. Shortly after, the door behind me closed with a metallic, muffled thud, echoing through the empty hallway and intensifying the sense of isolation in that cold, impersonal space.
My eyes turned back briefly, resting on the metal door that creaked softly in the distance. For a moment, I stood still, absorbing the coldness of the metal and the oppressive silence of that place. But then I looked away and focused again on the narrow corridor ahead — the path we had to follow.
Nyara walked beside me with an almost ethereal calm, her bare feet gliding silently over the cold, rough floor of the facility. To be honest, I wasn’t much different from her.
(Let’s go) I said softly, almost like a whisper, and Nyara just nodded, with a slight tilt of her head, silently confirming.
Our walk through the corridors was smooth, without major difficulties. To be honest, we didn’t find anything interesting along the way — everything seemed excessively quiet and empty. By the way, this facility is much larger than it looks at first glance.
You could easily spend a good amount of time exploring just one floor, only to realize later that there are several other underground levels waiting for you down below, each one more mysterious than the other.
As I walked down the hallway, carefree, with my thoughts gently wandering through my mind, Nyara, who followed obediently, suddenly stopped. Her gaze was fixed ahead, piercing and intense, as if she could see something invisible to my eyes, something hidden in the shadows dancing along the silent corridor walls.
Without me needing to ask, Nyara spoke, her voice low and shy, carrying a slight indifference: “The children got restless again”
I heard Nyara’s words and, like her, directed my gaze forward. For a few seconds, nothing changed — the silence was dense, almost tangible, as if the very air was waiting for something. Then suddenly, the lights went out, all at once, as if an invisible will had decided to extinguish every trace of artificial light.
The long, silent corridor plunged into total darkness. For anyone else, that would be the end of vision — an abyss of darkness without shape or outline. But for us, it made no difference.
The absence of light doesn’t affect us; the corridor remained as clear as before, revealing its twisted contours, the ancient walls dampened by ancestral moisture, and something else... Yes, it was because we could see so clearly that we noticed it.
Something was there. At the far end of the corridor, where the architecture seemed to bend at an impossible angle, something emerged. It didn’t walk, crawl, or fly — it just existed, like an idea too strange for the human mind to conceive. And along with its appearance came the sound. A sound without origin or echo, that wasn’t exactly heard but felt.
It started with the wet, dragging sound of footsteps — that sticky kind of noise that echoes when bare feet step on something viscous. A wet, irregular sound that didn’t seem to belong to any being who should walk upright. Just ahead in the corridor, something appeared slowly and quietly: a footprint pressed into the floor, made entirely of thick, dark blood, as if someone had just stepped there out of nowhere.
I watched the mark appear with an almost clinical attention, while others, identical, began to form one by one, slowly approaching, as if some invisible being was crawling through the cracks of reality. The blood didn’t seem to dry but pulsated discreetly, as if it had a life of its own — each footprint closer than the last.
Beside me, Nyara remained still. Nothing but her breathing broke the silence between each step. The marks kept appearing, methodical, converging toward us with a patience only the unliving could have. And still, there was no hurry. No urgency. Just the inevitable advance of the incomprehensible.
The marks abruptly stopped on the corridor floor. In silence, they began to sprout on the walls — raw, wet imprints of feet and hands, as if the thing leaving them had abandoned the ground and was now crawling on the vertical surfaces, stuck to the structure like a viscous parasite. The progression was slow, deliberate, and the marks multiplied with an almost organic precision, always closer to each other.
Without any perceptible transition, they started appearing on the ceiling — as if gravity was an irrelevant convention for this. A thick stench began soaking the environment: the unmistakable odor of old blood, mixed with something else... something sweet and rotten, impossible to name.
The air grew dense, oppressive. A sound began to spread through the corridor — a sticky noise, interspersed with metallic and liquid notes, like flesh being dragged over rusty nails. The echo of this sound extended along the narrow walls, resonating in the tight space like a breath suffocated beyond what a human could bear.