The sound of glass shattering rang through the empty training hall.
Eron’s fist was still buried in the remains of the reinforced window, shards falling in a slow rain to the polished floor.
He didn’t stop there.
A metal table went flying, slamming against the far wall hard enough to bend its legs. The rack of weapons toppled, blades and spears clattering across the ground in a chaotic chorus. His breathing was harsh, each exhale hissing between clenched teeth.
The kids were back. They were back.
Lucian. Vyn. Evelyn. Silas.
The image of them stepping onto the battlefield, alive and stronger than before, burned through his mind like a sickness. He’d watched them walk away from that SSS rank gate months ago, and that had been his mistake—letting them live. He should have finished it there. He should have made sure no trace of them remained.
Instead, he had hesitated. And now...
Now that hesitation had cost him everything.
Another strike—his palm smashed into the wall, spiderweb cracks racing outwards across the concrete. Power leaked from him in waves, twisting the air, warping the light in the room.
A heavy bootstep echoed from the entrance.
Eron turned, his aura still snapping like live wire.
Dean Garos stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking far too calm for someone walking into the middle of a storm.
"Quite the mess," Garos said, eyes scanning the destruction. "What happened? Lose a sparring match?"
Eron’s glare could have cut steel. "If you came here to run your mouth, turn around."
Garos stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him. "Funny. You didn’t mind my mouth when I was telling the world how great you were. Strongest Hunter alive. Unbeatable." His voice carried an edge now. "Guess that title doesn’t belong to you anymore."
The words hit harder than a blade.
Eron’s aura flared in a violent spike, the temperature in the room jumping. "Say that again."
Garos didn’t even blink. "You heard me. The moment Lucian walked back through that gate, the moment he took down a Rank X dragon in front of half the city—you stopped being number one. And you know it."
The air between them was a taut wire, one breath away from snapping.
Eron’s fists curled tight. "You’re enjoying this."
"Of course I am," Garos said, that faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’ve been sitting on your throne so long you forgot what it’s like to look up at someone else. Now you get to feel what the rest of us have felt."
The rage inside Eron twisted, mixing with something else—humiliation, sharp and acidic. "He’s nothing. Just a kid with lucky breaks and a fancy power set. He won’t last."
Garos stepped closer, his eyes locking on Eron’s. "That ’kid’ made you look like an amateur without even fighting you. He’s beyond you, Eron. Way beyond. And deep down, you know it."
The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the faint hum of the lights above.
Eron’s jaw worked, the muscle in his cheek twitching. "Get out."
Garos stared at his younger brother for a moment longer, then gave a low chuckle—deep, slow, the kind meant to sting.
"Careful, Eron," he said, turning toward the door. "Keep sulking , and people might forget you ever were the strongest."
The door slid open with a hiss. Garos stepped out, his laughter echoing back into the ruined hall before the door closed behind him.
Eron stood there, shoulders rigid, jaw locked so tight it hurt. The rage boiled up until it burned in his chest.
His eyes narrowed. "Aldric!"
The voice that answered came from the shadows near the wall. "Sir?"
A man stepped into the light—sharp suit, dark hair slicked back, a faint scar across his jaw. His presence was quiet, but the kind that made people take a step back without realizing.
"It’s time," Eron said, his tone low and cutting. "Release Project X."
Aldric’s gaze didn’t change, but a flicker of understanding passed through his eyes. "Understood."
He turned on his heel and walked toward the far side of the hall. His hand pressed against what looked like a smooth section of wall—then the metal shifted, splitting down the middle. The panels slid apart with a deep mechanical hum, revealing a narrow, dimly lit passage.
Eron followed him inside.
The air was colder here, heavy with the faint scent of chemicals and steel. The walls were lined with storage cases, locked crates, and racks of covered equipment. As they walked, dim lights above them flickered on one by one.
Lucian wasn’t here to see it—but if he was, his eyes would have gone straight to a small reinforced shelf near the entrance. Resting there, sealed in a black containment box, were vials of a strange green liquid. The same poison Garrick had once used in another life... to weaken him before the killing blow.
The path curved deeper into the hidden room until they reached a second set of heavy doors. Aldric keyed in a sequence on the panel. With a low hiss, the seals released, and the doors slid open.
Cold mist rolled out from the chamber inside.
The room was wide, the walls lined with towering glass tubes. Inside each one floated a human figure—men and women of varying ages, their bodies suspended in glowing fluid, eyes closed. Thin cables ran from their spines and skulls into the machinery above.
Eron’s eyes swept past them, not slowing, until they stopped at the far corner.
One tube was different. The fluid inside glowed faintly gold, casting its light across the pale skin of the man within.
He looked to be in his mid-twenties, tall and lean, his hair drifting gently in the liquid. His face was calm, almost peaceful—but there was something in his features.
Older than Lucy, but only slightly.
Eron’s gaze lingered on the man’s face, his eyes narrowing with the weight of something unspoken.
The hum of the machines filled the silence, the glow of the tubes painting the room in cold light.
And in that stillness, the figure in the golden liquid drifted—waiting.