The lights in the vault were low, flickering only where they had to. Soulfield projectors spun lazily in the ceiling – fractured maps of demonic activity, psychic surges, and apocalyptic anomalies glowed like cancerous constellations across the walls.

Dr. Grimm stood alone at the centre console.

Alpha and Omega entered without sound, save for the soft click of their boots. Both wore standard-issue black fatigues, but nothing about them looked standard anymore.

Grimm didn't turn.

"Report."

Alpha stepped forward. "We've been... changed. By Max Jaeger."

Grimm raised one eyebrow. "Clarify."

"Empowered," she said. "Like the others. I manifested speed and neural targeting. I can predict projectile trajectories before they're fired. I can accelerate to kill range in under 0.4 seconds."

She gestured to Omega. "He has grown... heavier."

Omega grinned. A dull crack echoed as he flexed his shoulders. Bone erupted from his spine, twisting outward into a jagged carapace that sealed around his chest like living armour.

"Exoskeletal bone plating," Alpha said. "Organic. Self-repairing. He can tank most soul-based attacks at Category 3 or lower. We ran the numbers. We're already exceeding standard thresholds for Contractors."

Grimm watched in silence. A flicker of interest danced in his eyes.

"Impressive," he said. "Show me."

Without waiting, Alpha vanished.

She reappeared behind him, a whisper of motion, her palm stopping just short of his temple – still, calm, lethal.

Omega stomped once, making the entire room thrum. Bone hooks coiled around his forearms like riot shields.

Grimm didn't flinch.

"Stand down."

They did. Instantly.

He tapped a few keys. The maps receded. The room dimmed further.

"Tell me about Verrine."

Alpha and Omega exchanged a glance. Then Alpha spoke.

"The ritual in Chengdu wasn't a possession. It was an extraction. Verrine was pulling something out of Elizabeth – a fragment of something older. It burned through the sky. Through reality."

Omega's voice was lower. Rougher.

"Hellfire. She was drawing Hellfire."

"She said it would save us," Alpha added. "That she was trying to save us from God."

That made Grimm pause.

"God," he repeated. "You believe she meant God— God from the bible?"

Omega shook his head. "No. We saw it. At the edge. It wasn't... It wasn't Allah. It wasn't anything I ever prayed to. It was bigger. Wrong. Too big for this world."

His fists clenched, armoured plates grinding.

"It looked at me, and I wanted to peel my own skin off."

Alpha said nothing for a moment. Then:

"I don't know what it was – but it was something that should not exist."

Grimm's fingers curled around the edge of the console.

"So Verrine wanted to burn a hole in the world... to keep that thing from getting through. Or to let it in?"

No one answered.

"And Elizabeth—" he began.

Alpha cut in. "She's not the threat. Whatever fragment Verrine wanted, it's not psychic. It's infernal. She was just the vessel."

Omega nodded. "Max still carries the real prize. The Aamon fragment. The Hellfire."

Grimm turned away, deep in thought. "Then Max is still the target."

A silence settled.

Then he asked, "Can he stop it? Whatever this thing is. This... god?"

Alpha didn't hesitate.

"He is our best option. But not like this."

Grimm's gaze narrowed. "Explain."

"He needs to empower more soldiers," Alpha said. "Now. If you want to defend the Fortress, we need firepower. He can give it to us."

Grimm looked toward the sealed wall across from him – reinforced with scriptural iron and embedded with glyphs designed to hold back entities no religion had names for.

"You're asking me to light up the Fortress like a beacon."

"It already is," Omega said. "After what happened in Chengdu? They're coming. Whether we fight or not."

Grimm didn't argue.

Alpha stepped closer.

"Max won't be fully focused until Liz is safe. Right now, she's still the centre of his world. The rest of this— us? It's just noise."

That, Grimm didn't disagree with.

"The exorcists in Japan," he said. "The only ones left who might understand what's inside her."

He turned to the console, keyed in an encrypted release code, and activated a transit schedule. One file blinked green: FERRON // KYOTO CLAN CONTACT.

"I'll give them everything we have. Access to archives. To weapons. To transport. Ferron will guide them to his family's territory. We have no choice."

He looked up at the two supersoldiers.

"We need Max. The world needs him."

Alpha nodded.

"Then help him save her. After that... let him save us all."

…………………

The archives didn't hum. They breathed – slow and deep, like lungs buried under stone.

Harsh lamps cast long shadows over the scroll-lined vault. Shelves curved upward like ribs, each one sealed by scripture older than Grimm's entire bloodline. Max had been in warzones quieter than this room. But here, the silence didn't comfort. It waited.

Ferron sat cross-legged near the centre, a velvet-wrapped bundle beside him. His kusarigama rested on the floor like a sleeping serpent. Max stayed standing.

Without a word, Ferron unwrapped the cloth and began unrolling scrolls across the inlaid slate floor. Ochre ink shimmered in the dim light – elegant strokes that curved into binding seals, soul fracture diagrams, exorcism rites, and one that resembled a jagged spine cracking open a star.

Max studied it all in silence.

"You think this will fix her?" he asked.

Ferron didn't look up.

"Fix?" he echoed. "No. Maybe free her. If she survives it."

He unrolled another scroll – circular, with twelve inner rings and a radiant golden core at the centre. It pulsed faintly.

"My clan has fought demons for a thousand years," Ferron said. "Before Christianity. Before the Institute. Before all this. We don't use Contracts. We use soul affinity. Golden aura. Passed down. Born into the blood."

Max stared at the glowing core.

"So… you're not Contractors."

Ferron shook his head. "No. We don't borrow power. We're forged with it. Not stronger. Just... older. And steeped in too much blood."

Max knelt slowly, lowering himself beside the scrolls. He didn't touch them.

"Then what am I?" he asked. "Because this—" he held out a hand, and a blue flicker danced across his fingers, "—this isn't something I was born with. It's stolen."

Ferron finally looked at him. "Hellfire."

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Max nodded once. "I didn't earn it. I didn't ask for it. Aamon tried to take my soul, and I trapped him instead. Now it's inside me. Like... a second heart that only knows how to burn."

He paused, voice lower.

"I'm always in pain. Every time I use it, I feel something come loose. Something... human."

Ferron didn't argue.

He reached forward and pointed at a ring on the scroll – a pale blue outer halo that fractured into runes that didn't translate.

"Hellfire isn't just a weapon. It's an eraser. It doesn't cleanse. It removes. Permanently."

Max didn't respond.

Ferron continued. "What Verrine did in Chengdu... it wasn't a spell. It was an incision. She used the fragment of Hellfire inside Liz to slice through the laws of reality. You could do the same. Or worse."

Max felt it then – deep in his chest. That pulse. That ache.

"Or be forced to," he said quietly.

Ferron leaned back, the glow of the soulmap painting shadows across his face.

"I'm scared, Max. Not just of the fire. Of the exorcists in Japan. My clan." "They're powerful. But they're not forgiving. My association with the Institute... it's a sin. I'm an exile. They won't welcome me."

"But they'll take Liz?"

"Yes," Ferron said. "Because she's still salvageable. But if they judge her soul too far gone – if they sense the demon has rooted too deep – they won't hesitate."

Max's voice was quiet now. Barely a breath.

"They'll kill her."

Ferron nodded once. "They believe that destroying the vessel can prevent the spread of corruption. They believe mercy is fire."

Max's hand closed into a fist. The blue flames didn't rise but they wanted to.

"Then I'll burn them too."

There was no rage in the words. Just certainty.

Ferron didn't flinch. Didn't preach restraint. Didn't speak of hope.

He just bowed his head once.

"Then I'll stand beside you."

…………………

Omega was a storm in slow motion.

Below the reinforced glass, he tore through a formation of automated golems like they owed him money. Bone plates slammed into soulsteel torsos. Limbs flew. Sparks kicked across the training floor. The golems tried to adapt. They failed.

Ying stood at the glass, arms folded, motionless. The glow from the chamber lit the tired lines in her face.

Victor wandered up beside her with a mug of sludge masquerading as coffee. His fatigues were unzipped halfway, boots untied. He looked like someone who'd barely survived the apocalypse – and dressed like it, too.

They stood in silence for a few moments.

Then Ying spoke.

"I envy them."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "The bone monster or the punching bags?"

"The golems," she said. "They don't think. They don't feel. They just follow code. No guilt. No fear."

Victor sipped his coffee and made a face. "Yeah, well, I bet their cafeteria doesn't serve radioactive mud either."

Omega finished flattening the last golem with a spine tackle that would've made a grizzly weep.

Victor let out a low whistle. "Jesus. Remind me not to piss him off."

Ying didn't respond. She just stared.

"So," Victor said after a beat. "What's your story? You military?"

She nodded. "Born into it. PLA special forces. It was called Jade Dragon. Division Three."

"Ah. The friendly neighbourhood death cult."

She didn't smile. "Close enough. I was taught how to field-strip a rifle before I could spell."

Victor gave a low chuckle. "That explains the vibe. You've got the 'I survived a blacksite and didn't cry about it' posture."

Her gaze flicked to him. "And you?"

He raised his mug like a toast. "Army. Honourable discharge, long story. Max and April found me somewhere between drunk, bleeding, and mostly unemployed. Said I needed a purpose. Turns out that purpose was nearly dying on a weekly basis."

Ying blinked. "Why'd you stay?"

Victor scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not sure. Masochism? Emotional co-dependence?"

He let the joke hang, then added:

"Max is family. Stupid, self-sacrificing, fire-punching family. And Liz... Liz is like the daughter I never got to ruin with my bad parenting. April kept me alive more than once. Figured I owe her more than a gravestone."

Ying studied him. "That's a better reason than most."

Victor shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just too damn stubborn to quit."

They stood in silence for a while, watching Omega cool down as the bone armour peeled back into skin.

Ying finally said, "You ever kill a city?"

Victor blinked. "Wow. Going straight for the casual trauma, huh?"

She didn't flinch.

"I gave the order. I typed the code. Watched Chengdu vanish through satellite feed."

Victor's jaw tightened slightly, but his voice stayed light.

"I once set a training base on fire trying to microwave a burrito. Not quite the same scale."

Ying just stared at him. "You're not funny."

Victor shrugged. "Eh. Jury's out."

Then, quieter:

"If I ever have to be that person – the one who decides who burns and who doesn't... I don't think I'd walk away from that. Not intact."

Ying didn't look at him. But her voice was softer.

"You're already that person. You're just not dead inside yet."

Victor stared into the chamber. "Give it time."

She finally turned to face him.

"Why do you really stay, Victor? You could've walked after Singapore. Hell, after Sydney. Why are you still here?"

He blew out a breath, then grinned without joy.

"Because if I leave, Max might actually try to do everything alone. And then we're all fucked. I'm the designated dumbass with a gun. It's not glamorous, but someone's gotta make sure he doesn't die dramatically halfway through a monologue."

She gave the ghost of a smile at that.

"You trust him?"

Victor nodded. "Don't really have a choice. He's the only guy I've seen scream at God and mean it."

A silence stretched.

Then Victor flexed his hand – claws slid out with a snkt, catching the low light.

Ying raised an eyebrow. "Neat trick."

He flexed them once more before retracting. "Thanks. I call them my emotional support knives."

She actually laughed at that. Quiet. Brief. But real.

"I might ask Max for my own," she said.

Victor smirked. "Hell yeah. We can be the Dysfunctional X-Men."

She turned serious again. Met his gaze.

"But I'll need something else too."

"Name it."

"You. Alive. Watching our backs. Keeping this team together."

Victor's smirk faded.

He nodded.

"Yeah. You got it."

…………………

The machines hummed softly – slow, rhythmic, and too precise to be comforting.

Dan sat on the edge of the medical bed, wires trailing from his temples to a neural resonance scanner. His coat hung on a chair nearby, sleeves still streaked with dried blood and antiseptic gel. The air smelled like copper, ozone, and synthetic citrus.

Dr. Adisa stood beside the readout console, frowning thoughtfully as streams of golden data flickered across the interface.

Across the room, Dr. Grimm leaned against the far wall with his arms folded. He hadn't spoken since the scan started.

Dan glanced over at him.

"You ever stop for five seconds and just breathe?"

Grimm's mouth twitched – not quite a smile.

"I used to. Before the Contract. Before I understood how broken this world really is."

He straightened, crossing to the workstation.

"Knowledge has a cost. And the Institute was founded to pay it. Because once you see the machinery behind reality, pretending it doesn't exist becomes the real sin."

Dan studied him for a beat.

"You're soul-sick," he said quietly.

Grimm looked over, one brow raised.

Dan tilted his head. "You're not just tired. You're... half-faded. Like there's something missing that used to be alive."

Even Adisa turned, startled.

Grimm didn't deny it.

"I've carried the same burden since I was twenty-four. A severed soul. Self-inflicted through ignorance. My Contract bought time, clarity, and power. But not peace."

"If it were that easy to fix, I'd have healed myself decades ago."

Dan hesitated. "What's the problem, then? Damage?"

Grimm's voice dropped an octave. He turned slightly away.

"No. A demon. The one I Contracted. One that... lingers. Even now."

Silence settled.

Dan nodded slowly. Then looked down at his hands, golden aura flickering faintly across his fingertips.

"Let me try anyway."

Grimm looked over – genuinely surprised.

Adisa blinked. "Dan, that's not advised. He's—"

"I know what I'm doing," Dan said softly. "It won't fix him. But maybe it'll take the edge off."

Grimm held his gaze a moment longer. Then finally extended one hand.

"Fine. For science."

Dan smiled faintly. "For science."

He placed his hand over Grimm's wrist. Warmth pulsed outward – golden, steady, slow. The room dimmed. The machines around them went quiet, not powered down, just... still.

Grimm inhaled sharply.

His posture shifted. Subtly. His shoulders straightened. The tremor in his left hand vanished. The shallow hollowness beneath his eyes faded. The skin around his jaw tightened – like time had turned back just a fraction.

But something deeper remained unchanged. The soul at the centre. Fractured. Eaten way. Devoured by something ancient and wrong.

Dan let go.

Grimm flexed his hand slowly. Then looked at it like he didn't quite recognize it.

"You did more than I expected," he murmured. "I feel... lighter."

Dan nodded. "But the soul?"

Grimm looked at Adisa. Then back at Dan.

"Still fractured. Still haunted. But less loud."

He paused.

"Thank you. Sincerely."

Dan shrugged. "You're welcome."

Grimm straightened his coat. "You're a treasure, Daniel Bailey. If we weren't knee-deep in an apocalypse, you'd probably be the most valuable man on Earth."

"Richest too, probably," Adisa added, half-joking.

Dan smiled. "I'd probably still be riding in an ambulance. Just in a nicer jacket."

Grimm chuckled once. "Modesty. Charming."

Dan leaned back slightly, stretching his neck.

"I still think the world can heal. But we've got a disease that's spread too far. Demons aren't just infections. They're... cancers. We need to cut them out."

Grimm's face hardened.

"Thousands of years of claw marks on the soul of humanity. But I'm going to end it."

He offered his hand again. Dan shook it.

"Then let's start cutting," Dan said.

…………………

The lounge looked like it hadn't ever been used.

Most of the too-new chairs were missing legs. The couches were still shrink wrapped. One corner of the room had been taken over by storage crates filled with cracked gear and old military batteries. A single vending machine stood near the door – dead, flickering, dented like someone had tried to punch it into life.

Alyssa was crouched in front of it, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back with an elastic she'd bitten loose from her wrist. She had a screwdriver in one hand and a plastic panel pried halfway open in the other.

Chloe sat nearby, cross-legged on a plastic crate, flipping through a worn Institute tablet that buzzed softly with encrypted data. The screen showed fragments of demon lineage – names scratched out, bloodlines traced back to things that had never had a human name.

Alyssa cursed under her breath.

"You know," Chloe said without looking up, "you could just ask someone for a snack."

Alyssa grunted. "That's not the point."

She pulled another panel loose and peered inside.

"I just wanted... I don't know. A win. Something stupid and normal. Like a bag of chips."

Chloe smiled faintly. "We passed normal a few fights ago."

Alyssa didn't answer right away. The screwdriver slipped. She scraped her knuckles and swore again, then sat back with a sigh.

"I keep thinking about Jack," she said suddenly. "About how fast it happened."

Chloe looked up. Alyssa was staring at the broken glass of the vending machine, but she wasn't seeing it.

"He was there. And then he wasn't. And we didn't even get to say goodbye."

Chloe closed the tablet and set it aside.

"I miss him too."

They sat in silence for a long beat.

"I didn't choose any of this," Alyssa said. "We didn't sign up for Contracts. Or monsters. Or war."

She looked down at her hands. They were shaking just slightly.

"But I'm still here. And if I'm still here... I want to be useful. I want it to mean something."

Chloe nodded, slow and deliberate.

"I stay for Liz."

Alyssa looked up.

"She didn't choose this either. She was just trying to save someone. And they almost broke her for it."

Chloe's voice dropped.

"But she fought. She's still fighting. So we owe her. Everything."

A soft clunk interrupted them.

A protein bar landed at Alyssa's feet.

She looked up. Victor stood in the doorway, arms crossed, half-smirk on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt the teen grief circle, but I figured you'd appreciate a bribe."

Alyssa picked up the bar. "Where'd you get this?"

"Stole it from Grimm's stash. Probably expired. Might turn you into a lesser demon. Worth it?"

Alyssa tore it open and took a bite. "Tastes like disappointment."

Victor grinned. "Then it's authentic."

He stepped into the room and leaned against the nearest wall.

"I heard most of that. Just so you know."

"Creepy," Alyssa muttered through a mouthful.

"You're not wrong," Victor said. "But I mean it."

He looked at both of them, and for once the joking dropped from his voice.

"Whatever happens – I keep you alive. That's my deal. Not negotiable."

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "You're not our dad."

Victor grinned. "Good. Dads are too nice."

He flexed one claw from his fingertip and let it glint in the low light.

"Think of me as your angry uncle. With a shotgun and claws."

Alyssa snorted. "Weirdest family ever."

"Welcome to the apocalypse," Victor said. "Family's what you choose. Or what survives with you."

No one answered. But no one left either.

And for a while, the three of them just sat there – surrounded by cracked machines, harsh florescent light, and the memory of people they weren't ready to lose. But they weren't running either.

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