The aberrant lunged at me—no roar, no warning, just a blur of purple mass slicing through the wind.
I raised my blade, and steel met claw with a screech so violent it sent sparks across the cracked pavement. The force sent me skidding backward, boots dragging trenches into the dirt, hood fluttering behind me like a wounded flag. I exhaled slowly, letting the silence stretch as the creature rose from its crouch, saliva bubbling between jagged teeth.
Tall, hunched, and snarling—its obsidian skin gleamed under the fractured light like cooling magma. Its arms were disproportionately long, ending in claws that jittered, eager to carve. Twin yellow lights blinked in place of eyes, and a third eye pulsed in the center of its brow.
> "Jazz," I muttered.
"Low-tier aberrant," the AI answered in my ear. "Possibly evolved from an Echoe. Intelligence: minimal. Caution: moderate. Cool factor: 3 out of 10."
I planted my sword into the earth beside me with a satisfying shnk.
> "Won't be needing this."
A soft blue glow emerged across my glove as heat curled from my fists, The air around me shimmered.
> "Evolved, sure… but not by much."
The aberrant's head twitched to the side.
> "Grrrrgh—blasphemous pest!" it hissed, voice like a broken garbage disposal trying to speak Latin.
I rotated my shoulders.
> "Oh, it talks. A lot less dumb than I thought." I taunted a smile tugging at my masked lips.
It let out a guttural scream that shook the ground, and I just stood there, hood flapping behind me like the calm before a monsoon.
We moved at the same time.
Its claws whistled past my cheek. I dipped low, countered with a right hook engulfed in blue fire. It staggered, shrieked. My left fist caught its chin, followed by a swift spinning kick to its ribs. It retaliated with a burst of reddish energy, firing orbs from its palms. I weaved through them—one singed my sleeve, another grazed my mask.
After exchanging a few more blows I decided to make things a lot more interesting.
> "Jazz," I called, panting lightly, "Can I raise the heat?"
"No humans within a hundred-meter radius. You're good to cook, chef."
I let the flames dim. The aberrant blinked, confused. It took a step toward me.
Then paused.
Steam hissed from its skin.
> "It's not the flames that'll kill you," I muttered. "It's the temperature."
The creature writhed. Its flesh blistered, bubbled… and then began to melt. Sludge pooled around its twitching feet. Its shrieks became gurgles. Moments later, all that remained was a whiff of gas and a puddle evaporating into steam.
I didn't even pick up my blade.
> "And they say I'm defective."
"Incoming call," Jazz chirped.
> "Put it through."
"Yo."
Willy's voice came through, casual as ever.
"How's the fam? Everyone good?"
> "Yeah," I replied. "Toured the place. All the usual drama."
Just then, I spotted a movement beyond the adjacent wall—figures moving erratically. Black tactical uniforms, bodies lit by symbiont and aeon aura flares.
> "Jazz, zoom in. Who's that?"
"Luce Nera Operatives. Engaged with multiple Class 1 aberrants."
I vanished into a streak of lightning.
I dropped in behind the operatives, making sure I moved quicker than the ye could match, blue plasma igniting around my fists mid-air. One aberrant lunged at a soldier—I intercepted it mid-pounce, sending it crashing into a wall. Dust exploded. The operatives turned, wondering what had happened. I dipped into another sprint, body dashing across the battlefield like a dying star.
Back on the call—
"Yo," Willy grunted. "You panting, bro? You got a girl over?"
> "Yup."
"Whatever you do—use pro—"
I hung up.
The quake hit like a bomb.
The sky shivered. The air folded.
A titan stomped into view, its body a grotesque patchwork of steel and sinew. Fourteen feet tall, horned, with jagged armor-like skin glowing red in the cracks.
It roared, and two operatives were reduced to jelly under its feet. Blood misted the air. Screams followed.
I sprinted in, lightning trailing my heels. One soldier—a woman with a crimson streak through her helmet—was seconds from being bisected. I tackled her aside just as the titan's spiked limb slammed into the ground where she'd stood.
> "You okay?"
She blinked at me.
> "Who—never mind. Thanks."
She lit up her level 2 crest, a radiant green. Her boots glowed, aura swelling.
> "Let's take this thing down!"
She surged ahead, I had a gut feeling.
> "Jazz!" I shouted. "Read me that titan again!"
"Level 3 sir. She's not gonna make it."
> "Wait!"
Too late.
She reached the titan's knee—and was immediately backhanded into a metal wall, leaving a crater and zero pulse.
> "...Damn."
The titan turned to me. I raised my fists, ready to go full nuclear. We exchanged blows—I danced around its swings, hit plasma-laced jabs at its weak points.
But I was losing steam.
One misstep, and I was slammed through a street lamp, skidding across the ground and bleeding from my temple.
> "Jazz! Can I take this thing?"
"Yes. With your blade."
> "...Crap."
I looked to where I'd left it earlier.
A glimmer of hope.
I dashed—only to be snatched mid-run and hurled through a glass wall, the impact cracking my ribs.
The titan stomped toward me, one foot already rising for the kill.
> "fuck," I whispered.
Shiiing—
The titan froze.
Then…
Its head slid clean off.
It rolled past me like a kicked pumpkin. The body crashed backward, shaking the street.
Dust swirled. Silence rang.
> "No way…" I murmured.
A figure dropped from the air—wind slicing around her like razors, boots landing light but deadly.
She straightened. Her silver braid gleamed in the low light. Her wind-scarred coat bore the crest of Luce Nera's elite.
Jazz whispered in my head:
"Luce Nera Vice-Captain. Global Toppler Rank: 72. Virelia Rank: 19."
"Hailee Cross."
> "You're supposed to be on tour…" I said aloud.
She smirked, lowering her blades of sharpened air.
Huey lay in a pile of rubble, ribs howling, breath shallow. Through the blur of his cracked goggles, he caught a familiar silhouette descending—dark boots tapping down on the fractured asphalt like an angel of wrath.
Silver braids trailing, wind circling her frame like obedient spirits.
Huey chuckled, or tried to—only for pain to punch his gut from the inside out.
> "Vice-Captain," he muttered, raising one shaky hand in salute. "Reporting in…"
Hailee's boot nudged his ribcage.
> "Does it hurt?"
"Obviously," he muttered.
> WHUMP.
Her heel connected with his side.
> "Ow!"
> "Good."
Her expression danced between fury and panic. Hands on her hips. That signature black and red Luce Nera coat catching the wind.
> "What. Were. You. Thinking, Huey?!"
Huey blinked slowly.
> "That I could handle it?"
> "You almost got killed."
> "Didn't."
> "You almost got seen."
His gaze dropped. Silence wrapped around them.
> "You know what that would've meant," she hissed.
Huey only nodded. That kind of exposure… not even his fake records could cover that.
> "You held back." Her eyes narrowed.
> "Didn't have my sword."
> "Like that's an excuse."
She stepped closer.
> "I've seen what you can do without a blade, Huey."
> "Didn't wanna steal the show," he offered with a dry grin.
Hailee glared, jaw tightening.
> "You're so—"
She didn't finish that sentence.
She didn't need to.
Later that night Huey lay on his bed, lips swollen, one eye pink, ribs wrapped in bandages. Calvin sat on the lower bunk, holding a drink, trying not to laugh.
> "what did you get yourself into at home, you look like you got jumped by six wrestlers and a nun."
> "Don't want to talk about it," Huey grumbled.
He shifted and winced, hand instinctively touching the sore cheek Hailee's slap had marked as her signature.
> "Oh, don't tell me it was your sister." Calvin smirked. "so you actually weren't kidding when you said she's into domestic violence."
Huey sighed, turned over, and buried his face into the pillow.
> "Let's not."
The soft glow of evening filtered through the half-drawn blinds of Room 202, casting long shadows across the cracked holo-tab screen on Huey's desk.
He'd just gotten back from class, still nursing his bruises like a one-man trauma center.
Calvin sprawled on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, his grey joggers and sleeveless shirt giving him that casual "dangerous but chill" vibe. A hint of his symbiont crest's mark trailed lazily around his wrist — a reminder that he could rip metal off the walls if he felt like it.
> "So… you really missed the freshman welcome party?" Calvin asked, raising a brow.
Huey, hunched over a cup of water, pressed it gently to his swollen bottom lip.
> "Had… more important things to handle."
> "More important than Rosario Park at night, free drinks, and fresher girls with crests and cheeks that glitter when they laugh?"
> Knock knock.
Before Calvin could cook up more slander, the door clicked open.
Willy strolled in, hoodie half-zipped, small eyes glittering with mischief.
Beside him was a girl a red haired girl— sharp, sleek, with a camera lens around her neck like a necklace. High-waisted jeans, polished boots, and a blazer that screamed "journalist with a vengeance."
> "Journalist girl," Huey muttered.
> "Name's Alessia, and you know that Cross" she corrected, slipping into the room like she owned the place.
Willy grinned like he'd just introduced the hero of the next plot arc.
> "She has something to show you."
Huey lowered the water.
> "Is that so?"
Alessia wasted no time. She tapped her tab, flicked a few gestures — and a grainy image blinked to life in the air between them.
It was a photo. A party scene. Fog lights, laughter, cups raised mid-toast.
But in the corner…
A hand.
Suspiciously reaching over a red solo cup.
> "Some girl was taking pics for her buzztok. Didn't realize until she got home. That hand?" Alessia said, pointing. "It spiked Lorenzo's drink."
Huey blinked.
> "Lorenzo…?"
> "Lorenzo got hit with a crest infection this morning," Calvin said, voice serious for once. "Collapsed during combat training."
Willy nodded. "Everyone's talking about it. Word is… his crest went haywire. Started leaking energy, nearly electrocuted the instructor."
Huey rubbed his temple.
> "Okay. And what does this have to do with me?"
Three blank stares answered him.
Alessia swiped again. A forum thread popped up on the holo-tab feed. Title:
"Sabotage? Crest Infection or Setup? Tournament Rigging?"
A blurry video of Lorenzo seizing mid-fight, glitchy but clear enough to terrify.
> "You haven't seen the forums at all?" Willy asked.
Huey just blinked at the ceiling.
> "I was unconscious for half of yesterday and grounded by air boots the other half." he said to himself in a toke barely above the ceiling while staring at the ceiling
> "Well," Calvin added, "Lorenzo isn't just any student. He's a Level 4 crest bearer. One of the favorites for the freshman showcase next month."
Alessia crossed her arms.
> "So someone wanted him out."
Calvin nodded. "And spiked drinks? Crest infection? It's too convenient."
Huey didn't respond. His swollen eye narrowed. His lips tugged ever so slightly.
"I thought they said you were some kind of genius, some detective you turned out to be" Alessia shot as she headed towards the door evidently disappointed.
> "So all they really did… was give him a perfect excuse not to participate."
Everyone looked at him.
> "What?"
Huey sat up straighter, the bandage at his side shifting.
> "Think about it. A Level 4 doesn't just get infected. He could recover in two weeks, sure. But now, everyone assumes he's been sabotaged. There's pressure to pull out. For safety. For PR."
He pointed at the image in the air.
> "here's a thought,Someone didn't want him beaten. They wanted him out. On his own terms."
Alessia stared, then slowly smiled.
> "So... you do know how to use your brain." she said the smile still tugging at her lips.
Huey smirked back.