The barn was broken, half-collapsed under the weight of time and fire, but it held. Just barely.

Outside, the wind whispered through the skeletal remains of rice fields. Inside, six survivors sat in silence.

Victor knelt beside Max's body. The flickering light of dawn filtered through the holes in the rafters and spilled across Max's blood-soaked chest. His shirt was shredded. His face pale. A gurgle escaped his throat every few minutes, wet and fragile.

Not dead.

But close.

Victor hadn't stopped moving since the ridge. Carrying Max. Kicking open the barn door. Trying not to think about how many guns had been pointed at them.

Now, for the first time, he was still. He pressed his hand to Max's chest – not because he thought he could help, but because he didn't know what else to do.

"Come on, man," he muttered. "Don't do this. Not after everything."

He swallowed, hard.

"You screamed down demons. You survived Mammon. You got us this far. You don't get to quit now."

Behind him, Dan groaned.

Victor turned, surprised.

Dan was awake – barely. His hands were trembling, his face drenched in sweat. He looked like someone who had clawed his way out of a grave.

"Dan?" Chloe was already moving, crouching beside him. "Hey, hey – you're okay. You're with us."

Dan blinked slowly. His voice came out cracked. "It still hurts."

"What does?" Victor asked.

Dan tried to sit up. He winced and touched his ribs. "Him. The one who... got inside me. The preacher."

"Crux?" Victor said. "The sadist in the black coat?"

Dan nodded. "He didn't just cause pain. He rewrote it. I felt things I didn't even know had nerves. Like he mapped out my body and played it like a hymn."

Chloe looked horrified. "That's... insane."

"He quoted scripture while I screamed," Dan whispered. "Said pain was the only language the soul couldn't lie in."

Victor exhaled sharply, sitting back on his heels. "And we were supposed to fight that?"

Dan looked over at Max. His face contorted with guilt.

"I failed," he said. "He was right in front of me, and I couldn't stop it."

"You didn't fail," Chloe said softly. "You're alive."

"For now."

Alyssa hadn't spoken in over an hour. She was sitting by the barn door, legs pulled up to her chest, fingers knotted in the hem of her shirt. Her voice broke the quiet:

"Liz is gone."

It wasn't a question. It was a fracture.

No one spoke.

Dan's eyes went to her. "I felt her aura in the pod. Right before they took her. It was screaming."

"She's alive though?" Alyssa asked, but her voice was hollow.

"I think so," he said. "But something else was inside. Something big. Dark."

Victor stood and paced, running a hand down his face. "This is beyond anything we've seen. Plane crash, CIA freakshow, Chinese military… we just got steamrolled."

Chloe wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "And now Max is dying. Liz is taken. Dan's wrecked. What are we even supposed to do?"

Victor paused. Looked at Max. Looked at all of them.

"We keep going," he said. "We get Max back on his feet. We regroup. We find a way. That's what he would do."

Dan took a shuddering breath. Gold shimmered faintly at his fingertips.

"I think... I can try again."

He crawled over to Max, collapsing beside him like a puppet held together by sheer will. He placed both hands on Max's chest.

"You always carried us," Dan whispered. "Let me carry you for once."

Golden light bled into Max's skin.

It wasn't perfect – it sputtered and pulsed and wavered – but it held. Max's breath evened, just slightly. The blood flow slowed.

Victor dropped into a crouch beside them, watching the light.

"How's he doing?"

Dan didn't answer. He was crying. Silent, exhausted tears.

"He's not leaving," Chloe said softly. "Not if we have anything to say about it."

Victor glanced at Alyssa. She was still watching the door. Still silent. Still trembling.

"I'll fix the rest of you next," Dan said faintly. "One by one."

Dan's hands glowed gold, and Max's chest rose a little easier with every breath.

Ferron watched from the shadows near the back of the barn.

He didn't speak. Not yet.

He'd seen this kind of moment before – too many times in too many warzones – when hope flickered like a candle in a storm. Everyone leaned in, not to bask in it, but to shield it. As if the mere act of hoping might snuff it out.

Max Jaeger, demon-burned, god-touched, impossible, was still breathing.

Ferron leaned against the barn's support beam, feeling the ache in his own shoulder. He hadn't healed since the crash. Didn't need to. Pain was the price of staying sharp.

But this…

This team was different.

Chloe, stubborn and trembling, wouldn't stop moving even when her legs shook. Alyssa, haunted and hollow, hadn't asked for this war but hadn't run either. Dan – whose soul once flickered like candlelight – now glowed with the raw gold of awakening.

And Victor Drake.

A beast with a conscience.

Ferron's fingers curled tighter around his cane.

He'd sent a message back to Site B three hours ago – encoded, tight-band. Grimm would have read it by now. He would've known they'd survived. Barely. Grimm never replied unless he had to. He sent people instead.

And if Ferron knew Grimm – and he did – then help was already moving.

Alpha and Omega.

Probably en route.

Still... he wasn't sure that would be enough. Not with what he'd felt near the pod. Not with the thing that cracked the sky.

He glanced at Max again, still limp beneath Dan's glowing hands.

"You don't even know what you're becoming, do you?" he murmured under his breath.

He didn't say it loud enough for the others to hear.

But the words settled heavy in the hay and ash.

And in the back of Ferron's mind, one truth remained:

The game had changed.

And the only reason any of them were still alive... was because someone – or something – still needed them on the board.

…………………

The elevator hummed as it rose through concrete.

Agent 714 stood motionless, her hands clasped behind her back, boots polished, expression unreadable beneath the dark visor of her formal armour. She was used to mission rooms, hangar bays, intel hubs. Not this.

Not glass walls and lacquered silence.

The doors opened with a soft hiss.

A private penthouse command chamber. Too modern. Too sterile. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of Chengdu's skyline – skyscrapers wrapped in grey cloud. The city didn't look like it was at war. But Agent 714 knew better.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

At the far end of the room stood a man in a pressed uniform, shoulders square, hands behind his back. His reflection merged with the cityscape – steel on steel.

General Wang.

She stepped forward crisply.

"Reporting, sir."

He didn't turn. His voice, when it came, was like cold iron folded in velvet.

"You tagged the pod."

Not a question. A statement. Mildly amused.

Agent 714's jaw clenched.

"Standard recon procedure. Passive tracer. Low risk."

A lie. But well-delivered.

Wang let the silence stretch. Then:

"You're not authorized to track internal assets."

"I wasn't aware it was internal, sir."

Still, he didn't move.

Agent 714 waited.

Finally, Wang spoke again.

"And Jaeger?"

"Wounded. Bleeding out. Being smuggled out by unknown allies."

"You let him escape."

It wasn't a question.

"I wasn't authorized to intervene," she said flatly.

A pause.

Then Wang turned.

His face was angular, symmetrical. Perfectly so. The kind of face that might be described in battlefield reports as "unremarkable" – if not for the eyes. Black irises, deep and glossy. No warmth. No reflection.

"You are not trained to disobey orders," he said, stepping closer. "Only to fulfill them. Tell me – do you have doubts?"

Her jaw tightened.

"Only questions, sir."

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Good. Keep them to yourself."

She said nothing.

Wang turned back to the city.

"The girl is being transported to a secure location. Somewhere she will be studied. Dissected, if necessary."

Agent 714 didn't flinch, but something inside her twisted.

"She's sixteen," she said quietly.

Wang didn't look at her. "You are not being paid to feel."

He stepped toward a dark glass terminal. With a flick of his hand, a map bloomed across it — digital overlays, transport lines, shifting interference readings. At the centre: The Burrow.

"You will be reassigned," he said. "A new mission."

She stepped forward. "The Burrow? That's real?"

"It was real," he corrected. "Destroyed now. But fragments remain."

He gestured at the map.

"This Grimm Institute was more than a research facility. It was a sanctum of aberrant knowledge. Forbidden rituals. Experimental soul science. Built on lies."

714 frowned. "Sir, I was told such things weren't—"

"Real?" Wang's head turned slowly. "You've seen the footage. You've felt the pressure. You've witnessed Jaeger's power. Still you doubt?"

She looked away. Not because he was right.

But because she didn't like that he was.

Wang moved closer, lowering his voice.

"You will infiltrate what remains of the Burrow in London. Track what they carried out. I want every trace of Dr. Grimm's specialised research catalogued, copied, and erased."

714 hesitated. "Is this mission sanctioned?"

He stared at her.

"Yes."

And that was that.

A data spike dropped from the terminal. She took it.

He turned away again. "You will rendezvous with Agent 49 en route."

The name hit like a strike to the ribs.

"Sir…"

Wang's tone cooled further.

"He has been assigned to track and capture Max Jaeger. You will not interfere."

She nodded stiffly.

"Yes, General."

But something twisted beneath her skin. A flicker of something she wasn't trained to hold onto.

Doubt.

Not orders.

Not clarity.

Just doubt.

It echoed behind her visor all the way down the elevator.

And it didn't leave.

…………………

The barn creaked with the weight of silence.

Outside, the wind had died. Inside, the only sound was Max's breathing – faint but steadier now.

Dan knelt beside him, eyes shut, both hands hovering just above Max's chest. The golden light spilling from his fingers wasn't wild like before. It pulsed in quiet, slow rhythm, thicker than before, with strands that laced through Max's body like glowing threads knitting muscle and bone.

His aura had changed. It used to flicker like candlelight.

Now it glowed like something buried deep in the earth.

Victor crouched nearby, watching.

"You done cooking him?" he asked, voice low.

Dan opened his eyes – bloodshot, but clear. "Mostly. The bullets didn't hit anything vital. Barely." He exhaled, sweat running down his temple. "I held the bleed. Closed the tears. He'll be sore, but he'll live."

Victor grunted. "Hell of a thing."

Dan didn't answer. He was already turning to Victor's side, gently peeling back the shredded fabric of his blood-soaked shirt.

"Dislocated shoulder. Two cracked ribs. Probably a hairline fracture in your left ulna," Dan said.

Victor blinked. "You a healer or a radiologist now?"

Dan just placed his hands against Victor's chest.

Warmth surged inward. Not fire. Not energy.

Relief.

Victor groaned as bones clicked, pain reversed itself, and breath rushed back into his lungs without resistance.

"Shit," he muttered. "That's better than morphine."

Dan managed a tired smile. "Just don't punch anything for a few hours."

He turned next to Chloe, who sat hunched beside the haystack, blood still dried along her temple. Her arm was bruised. One leg trembled faintly, but she hadn't said a word about it.

Dan knelt beside her and extended his hand. She stared at it a moment – then nodded, eyes shining.

Golden light spread across her shoulder. Her breath hitched. She blinked fast, looking away.

When he finished, Chloe reached out – quick, quiet – and hugged him.

"Thank you," she whispered. "You saved us."

Dan froze for half a second, then returned it. His voice came out hoarse.

"I just didn't want to lose anyone else."

Victor cleared his throat. "Damn right you didn't."

He stood fully, rolling his shoulder. "You feel that? That's two pounds of 'not-dead' I owe you."

His smile faltered. The glow around his hands flickered – then blinked out completely. Dan swayed sideways and nearly fell.

Chloe caught him. "Dan—!"

He shook his head, breath shallow. "I'm okay. I just... used too much." His legs folded under him.

Victor caught his shoulder. "Whoa. Easy. You just patched up three people and a corpse."

Dan chuckled weakly. "I think the corpse was the easiest."

Victor leaned against the barn wall and let out a long breath. His voice dropped, almost like he was talking to himself.

"Plane crash. CIA black-ops squad. Chinese military strike. And now this?" He let out a humourless laugh. "What the hell kind of war are we in?"

Nobody answered right away.

Then – softly – Alyssa spoke for the first time in what felt like hours.

"Is Liz still alive?"

They all turned toward her.

Her voice wasn't panicked. It was quiet. Measured. But there was a hollow edge in it, like she was preparing herself for the answer.

Alyssa stared at the floor. Her lip trembled once – she bit it hard, as if punishing herself for almost crying.

No one spoke.

Until Ferron.

He sat against a cracked support beam, one hand resting on his cane, the other absently tracing the edge of a sigil carved into the wood.

"If she's still connected to Max," he said, not looking up, "then yes."

He finally met Alyssa's eyes.

"But time is not on our side."

He glanced toward the barn door. Toward the east.

"If Verrine has her…" he murmured, almost too quiet to hear. "Then we're already chasing checkmate."

Victor frowned. "What's a Verrine?"

Ferron didn't answer.

Max stirred in the hay. His chest rose more evenly now. His fingers twitched.

Chloe looked at him, then back at the others.

"We're not done, are we?"

"No," Victor said. He cracked his knuckles, jaw tightening.

"I'm sick of getting my ass kicked."

He looked toward the door, toward the dark horizon beyond the ruins.

"Time to do something about it."

…………………

The holding yard outside Chinese Intelligence HQ in Chengdu smelled like ozone and steel. Rain clung to the edges of the compound's reinforced walls, and ghost lights shimmered faintly across the spectral shielding grid overhead. The military presence here was absolute – sleek drones hovered above like vultures, and uniformed officers patrolled with clinical silence.

Agent 714 waited beneath the awning, visor down, suit locked, helmet sealed. She watched the armoured transport arrive with a faint whine of electric treads.

The hatch hissed.

Out stepped Agent 49.

Same build. Same armour. Same cold precision in every movement.

But where 714 moved like a phantom, 49 moved like a scalpel – every step calculated, every breath controlled. His white armour bore a red insignia at the collar – a mark of commendation she hadn't earned. Not because she couldn't.

Because she never wanted to.

He didn't remove his helmet at first. He stopped three paces in front of her and tilted his head slightly.

Then, finally, the visor slid open.

His face was expressionless.

"You look tired," he said.

She said nothing.

Agent 49 smirked. "That mission broke your rhythm. You always freeze up when the unexpected happens."

Agent 714 crossed her arms. "I wasn't briefed on what I was walking into. The anomalies. The civilians. That… pod."

"And you still needed time to adapt," he said. "Just like always."

Her jaw flexed, but she kept her tone flat. "You're here to take over Jaeger's retrieval."

He nodded. "I've already been authorized. You're reassigned."

Agent 714's visor dimmed slightly. "To London."

A flicker of surprise touched his features – just for a second. Then: "The Burrow."

"You know it?" she asked.

Agent 49's eyes narrowed. "Only what I'm cleared to. You're not."

She didn't reply. They stood there a moment – two weapons forged from the same genetic blueprint, now pointed at different targets.

Then Agent 49 shrugged slightly.

"We were made for clarity, not questions."

"I'm starting to think clarity is a myth," she said quietly.

His expression didn't change.

"You always wanted to understand the why," he said. "That's your weakness."

"No," she said. "That's what makes me dangerous."

He snorted. "You think this is about morality? That girl in the pod – she's not yours to protect. Neither is Max Jaeger. You will follow the mission."

She looked at him. Really looked.

And for the first time, saw not a rival, not a brother.

Just a reflection of what she could've become.

"I'll finish my assignment," she said, stepping past him. "You do what you're good at."

He didn't move. "You still think you're better than me?"

"No," she said. "I just think I'm not done becoming something else."

She walked away without waiting for a reply.

Agent 49 stood in the rain, watching her go.

Then re-sealed his helmet.

And turned toward the horizon.

Toward Max.

Back inside the command chamber, alone once more, General Wang touched the data spike she had taken. A faint shimmer passed over his fingertips – like heat distortion, just for a second.

His eyes flicked toward the window.

"You're adapting faster than expected," he said to no one. "That could be… inconvenient."

…………………

The barn was quiet now.

The rain had stopped.

Max opened his eyes to rafters warped with age, the scent of smoke, hay, and blood thick in his nose. For a moment, he couldn't move. His limbs were numb. His ribs ached. Something inside him – a dull ember of Soulfire – stirred and flickered to life.

He blinked. Turned his head.

Ferron was sitting nearby, sharpening a curved blade with a cloth. The man didn't look up. "Welcome back," he said.

Max groaned. "Where…?"

"Safehouse," Ferron replied. "What's left of it."

Max sat up slowly, groaning again as pain lanced through his chest. He saw a faint golden shimmer clinging to his arms – Dan's aura, fading now.

Dan lay slumped on a blanket near the barn wall, breathing slow but steady. Chloe sat beside him, half-asleep, her hand on his.

Victor stepped into view, crouched beside a crate of salvaged supplies.

"You look like shit," Victor said.

Max coughed. "Feel worse."

"You were shot. Thirteen times. And bled out twice. Dan put you back together. Pretty sure he nearly killed himself doing it."

Max looked at the younger man again. Saw the bandages on his hands, the fatigue etched into his face. Gratitude caught in his throat.

"…He saved us all," Max said.

Victor nodded. "Yeah. He did."

Max turned to him. "And so did you."

Victor blinked. "I just carried you."

"No," Max said, voice quiet but firm. "You kept us together. You didn't run. You carried me when I couldn't move. I remember."

Victor looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. Someone had to."

Max gave him a tired, lopsided smile. "Thanks for not letting it be someone else."

Chloe stirred at the sound of Max's voice and blinked awake. She rose unsteadily and moved to his side.

"You're really awake?" she asked. "Like… actually you?"

Max gave her a weak smile. "Far as I can tell."

She didn't hug him. Just sat beside him. That was enough.

Alyssa was sitting by the door, arms wrapped around her knees. Her voice was small.

"Is Liz… still alive?"

No one spoke.

Then Ferron said, "If she's still connected to you, Max… then yes. But time is not on our side."

Max's throat tightened.

"She's in pain," he murmured. "I felt it. In the pod. Something was hurting her. Worse than the possession."

Victor sat back on his heels.

"We survived a plane crash," he muttered. "Got ambushed by a CIA kill team. Attacked by the Chinese military. Watched Liz get stolen like cargo. And you almost died."

He let out a long breath. "What the hell kind of war are we in?"

Max didn't answer.

Because he already knew.

It wasn't just a war between demons and humans anymore.

It was deeper. Older. And he was part of it now – whether he wanted to be or not.

He looked around the room. Chloe. Dan. Alyssa. Victor. Ferron.

They were all still here.

Broken. Bleeding. But standing.

And Liz was still out there.

He forced himself upright.

"Then we go get her."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? You just woke up."

Max looked him in the eye.

"I'm done waiting. Done running. If I have to burn this entire country to ash to get her back…"

He stood. His Soulfire flickered low and gold in his veins.

"Then let's start walking."

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