"How do you decide which man deserves punishment and which does not? How can you judge for certain, this heart is rotted and this one good? What if you make a mistake?" ― Madeline Miller (Circe)

* * * *

The hallway was narrow, claustrophobically so.

Dust clung to the rusting ventilation grates, and faint red lights pulsed across the ceiling in rhythmic flashes like the heartbeat of something undead. The very air was stale with age and rot, thick enough to choke on, infused with coppery overtones of blood and bleach.

Footsteps echoed in cautious, measured intervals—Sera led, Zest flanked to the right, and Laura brought up the rear. Their shadows stretched long behind them, distorted by the flickering lights.

Laura's head is still reeling after hearing the entire thing through the comms—from Letha, Claudia, and Lucie finding what they did on Level 2, and then the war hounds, and somehow managing to escape it.

Not many Gifted can say the same thing.

Laura's voice was a tense whip in the silence. "War hounds." She hissed the words as if they'd physically burned her tongue. "WAR. HOUNDS. They've been outlawed for years! The hunters aren't even supposed to use them anymore!"

Sera didn't stop walking. Her jaw was tight, with her eyes flickering to the half-burnt schematics in her hand—a battered printout Raul had patched together.

"Keyword here, Laura, being 'supposed to'." Her voice was grim, edged with an anger barely restrained. "When have the hunters ever played by the rules? Hell, even when they first created the war hounds, they knew it was illegal. They didn't care."

Zest snorted. A bitter sound. "The ESA and the Abyss tried to shut them down," he muttered, red eyes sweeping the hallway's corners like a hawk. "There were protests. The Eldario Council had to publicly outlaw them after the backlash, remember? But war hounds… They were never just dogs. They're walking nightmares. Killing machines. And if they're down there…" He trailed off.

Laura picked up the thread grimly. "Then this facility is more than just a prison. It's a weapon factory."

A moment of silence passed. Not the silence of peace, but of held breath. Sera's fingers hovered over her comms. "Raul," she whispered. "Any patrols?"

Static crackled. Then his voice came through, low and tight. "Not quite patrols. I'm detecting movement—one or two people nearby, but… They're not guards. No uniform signatures. No set patrol paths. Which means…"

"They're scientists," Zest muttered darkly. "Or worse."

Raul sighed. "There aren't any cameras I can tap into on this level, just the passageways. I can't see what's inside the rooms, but be careful. Level 3 is where the testing rooms are. If there's a hell in this place… It's going to be there."

The temperature seemed to drop.

Laura hugged her arms, her voice quieter now. "The chances of us finding the Gifted alive are low," she said.

Sera and Zest exchanged a glance—mutual understanding, grim and wordless.

"This is definitely a Gift-null zone," Laura murmured next, glancing down at her trembling hand. "I can barely feel it anymore. It's like I've lost a limb…"

Another faint tremor rumbled far below. Debris loosened from the ventilation shaft.

"That's Ness and Tatius," Laura muttered, concern threading her tone. "They're still putting on the decoy show downstairs. They won't be able to keep that going forever."

"I'm monitoring them," Raul assured them. "Neil has eyes on their movement. I'll get them to pull back before the guards converge."

Sera nodded once. Focus returned to her face like a blade being sharpened. "Let's move."

They turned a corner, their boots crunching faintly over dust and discarded bullet casings. Every sound felt amplified in this place—each breath, each shift of fabric. The walls were smooth and clinical, but stained with grime that no mop had ever touched.

Soon, the path ahead narrowed, ending at a steel door—silver-grey, reinforced, with an electronic panel beside it blinking softly.

"Raul?" Zest stepped forward.

"I'm on it," came the reply, followed by keystrokes and a faint hum. "Give me a sec—these locks are old, but they've been patched with something new. Looks like they upgraded the encryption. Class-C locking system, ten years ahead of anything registered. Definitely off-books."

Seconds passed.

A soft beep. Then a louder click. The panel glowed green, and the door hissed open.

Inside, the air changed. It wasn't just colder. It was still—not quiet, but still, like a room that had long since forgotten life.

The lights were dim—blue-hued fluorescents above barely illuminating the rows of metallic beds. At first glance, it could've been a hospital ward.

Then they saw the bodies.

Sera stopped first, her steps halting like her heart had clenched. Zest almost bumped into her. Laura barely avoided a collision.

"Sera?" Laura whispered. "What's—"

Then she saw.

Rows and rows of bodies strapped to metal gurneys, like a grotesque assembly line. The first was a child—barely ten, arms pinned down, a thick collar around her neck, tubes running from her mouth and limbs. Her chest still rose and fell, slow and mechanical.

The next was worse. A man, middle-aged, his spine visibly misaligned and protruding from a bloody incision along his back. A slow drip of black fluid—not blood, leaked from his temple, connected to a machine labeled 'EXTRACTION.'

Further still was an older woman. Her limbs were gone, all four. Wires threaded from the stumps to a glowing panel that pulsed like it was reading her nervous system.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

And then…

A body with bandages wrapped tightly over her eyes. Next to her bed was a glass jar filled with floating orbs—her eyes.

The label read: Specimen #147 – Cognitive-Visual Channel Separation Test.

Zest's stomach lurched. He turned away, his jaw clenched, bile rising. "By the Goddess…" he rasped.

Laura's hands covered her mouth. Her eyes widened in horror, then disbelief, then fury. The tears came fast and hot. "No…" she whispered. "No… This… This isn't medicine! This isn't science! It's…" She turned to them, voice cracking. "They're not even trying to hide what they are anymore!"

Sera couldn't speak. Her eyes locked onto each bed, each face. Some eyes were still open, barely flickering. Others were dead—glassy and unblinking. There was no doubt now. No excuse that could explain away the atrocity of what the hunters had done.

These weren't experiments.

They were executions in slow motion.

And they were all Gifted.

Sera approached the nearest bed. The woman strapped there had her neck exposed—most of the muscle flayed, red and raw, the vertebrae of her spine visible. Yet somehow, inexplicably, she was still alive.

Her head lolled. Her eyes, foggy and unfocused, lifted weakly to Sera's. And she whispered, barely audible—

"Kill me… Please…"

The sound was so faint that Laura almost missed it.

"How… How is she even able to talk?" Laura whispered, backing up. Her hands trembled. "They… They should've sedated her, at least. What kind of monsters—"

Sera knelt beside the woman, gently brushing hair from her blood-matted face. Her own voice was a whisper now, reverent and sorrowful. "May you find peace with the Goddess," she said softly.

The woman smiled. "…Thank you…"

And then—snap.

A swift, clean motion. The woman's body slumped. At last… Stillness.

Zest looked away. Not because it disturbed him. But because it didn't.

Laura collapsed against the wall, covering her face with her hands. "This…is sick," she choked out. "This isn't war. It's not punishment. It's not justice. This is genocide." Her voice cracked, thick with grief. "They call us monsters… But what kind of monster does this?! So what if we—they—are Gifted?! We're still human. We're still people! Not tools!"

Sera didn't answer. Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

Zest was the one to respond—his voice low and bitter. "You're not telling me anything I don't already know."

He stepped back, staring around the room—the jars, the restraints, and even at the monitors blinking with unreadable data. "Nicolosi did this," he added quietly. "Personally. He's not just a commander. He's a butcher. He knew exactly what he was creating. These aren't weapons. They're warnings. Messages to every Gifted that they're not safe. That they never were."

Laura's lips trembled, but she managed to lift her head. "How many more of these places do you think exist?" she whispered.

Sera stood slowly, her expression unreadable, but her eyes burned. "Too many."

The silence stretched between them. Then Raul's voice buzzed faintly in their ears. "You need to move. I'm picking up another signature. Someone's coming."

Sera didn't move yet. Not for a few precious seconds. She looked around one last time at the bodies, the blood, the suffering. "We burn this place to the ground," she whispered. "Before the world forgets what was done here."

Zest and Laura exchanged looks, their resolve stronger than before, especially after what they'd just seen here.

Laura looked around the room—like she is trying to memorise what she'd seen here, or even the faces of every single Gifted currently held in here. Zest, however, stood still, his breath slow, his senses sharpened, not just from caution, but from instinct.

Something in the room had changed.

He felt it before he heard it.

The barely-audible whistle of metal through air. The shift of movement—precise and practiced. A killer's motion. Zest didn't flinch.

Instead, in one smooth, almost dismissive motion, he lifted his hand and stopped the blade with the back of it.

Clink.

A dagger clattered to the ground, its edge having met the thin, black glove over Zest's hand. Not a mark on him. Not even a scratch. Just a casual breath as his red eyes flickered toward where the blade had been flung from.

Laura gasped beside him, her whole body stiffening in alarm. Her fingers twitched as if readying for a fight, already bending the moisture in the air. But Zest didn't budge.

And Sera… Sera didn't even blink.

She turned her head smoothly, slowly, those haunting heterochromatic eyes narrowing. Her left hand slipped down to her side, fingers curling around the concealed dagger hidden in the small holster strapped to her wrist. Her stance shifted, balanced and deadly.

The predator within her stirred, elegant and terrifying.

"I wouldn't do that if I'm you," Zest said calmly, his voice low. Controlled. Lethal. "Don't be in such a rush."

A man stepped out from the corridor's far end, the shadows melting away to reveal a figure cloaked in sleek black. Tactical gear, reinforced leather woven with kevlar panels, minimal but meant for agility. His coat bore no markings, save one.

A twin pair of silver swords crossed over a serpent. The emblem was unmistakable.

Zest's eyes narrowed.

He didn't need to look twice. He knew exactly what that symbol meant. It was burned into the deepest parts of his memory—etched in fire, blood, and betrayal.

"I didn't think you'd get this far in," The man said, his voice calm, almost bored, though the slight tension in his shoulders betrayed his readiness. "Am I to assume the commotion down below is your handiwork? Or perhaps your friends'?"

Zest didn't answer immediately. He just looked at the man for a moment, his gaze unreadable, sharp and cold. "And if it is?" he said.

"It's your unfortunate luck, then," The man replied. He reached to his side with a slow, deliberate gesture and drew a sleek, curved blade. "Because you're facing me now."

There was a chill to his tone. Not boastful. Certain.

"A hunter?" Laura murmured, eyes narrowing as she took a step closer to Sera, her voice laced with apprehension.

Sera's eyes flickered toward the emblem and back to the man's face. "Not quite," she said. Her voice was flat, but edged with unease. "If I have to guess… I'd say you're from that secret unit of theirs. The one most hunters didn't even know existed." Her grip tightened around the hidden dagger. "Their hit squad. The ones they sent after their own when they turned. And after targets that were too dangerous for regular hunters."

Laura's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. "Their what?! You're telling me there was something worse than the hunters?!"

"There was," Sera confirmed grimly. "That unit was wiped out years ago. Taken out by one of their own. Or so it was believed. Their elite assassins, gone in a single night. It was a massive blow to Nicolosi's ego and his power base."

The man's gaze hardened at Sera's words. "You know about us. You're Sera Kroix." There was venom in how he said her name. Like spitting poison. "I wish I could say I'm surprised," he continued. "But I'm not. You've been a thorn in our side for years. You should have died with the rest of Blade back then!"

Sera's smile was cold. Even merciless. "Unfortunately, I'm hard to kill," she said softly. "And I make it a habit to not do what the hunters want."

Zest sighed quietly, stepping between Sera and Laura, his presence suddenly like a wall—calm and immovable, yet charged with danger. "I'll take care of this," he said.

Sera looked at him sharply, her brows furrowed in protest, but stopped short when she saw his expression. Steady. Collected. Determined.

"You both go ahead," Zest continued. "You've got a job to do. And knowing the hunters… What's ahead is going to be worse. Much worse. Get yourselves prepared."

There was a gravity to his words that made Laura swallow hard.

"But—" Laura started.

Sera put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "Okay," she said softly, her eyes locking with Zest's. "Zest, be careful, okay?"

He gave her a small smile. "Always."

The man lunged, aiming for the girls as they moved past, but Zest moved first.

A blur.

A gleam of black steel.

The sound of metal clashing.

Zest's black dagger caught the man's blade mid-strike. The movement had been so fast, the assailant hadn't even seen it. One moment the strike was headed toward Laura's throat, the next, it was blocked.

Sera didn't stop.

Laura hesitated, turning halfway back, but Sera grabbed her arm and yanked her forward.

The metal door at the far end slammed shut behind them with a heavy thud.

Now it was just the two of them.

Zest and the man in black.

The man leapt back, breathing a little harder than before. "You're fast," he acknowledged. "Too fast. And you don't look surprised by the emblem. Or the fact we even exist."

Zest tilted his head, red eyes gleaming like coals in the low light. "Let's just say I'm more than familiar with the workings of the hunters," he said.

The man's gaze narrowed. He studied Zest more carefully now. Step by step, detail by detail. His eyes moved over Zest's lean build, the dark red eyes, the confidence in his stance, and even the absolute stillness in his frame.

Something clicked.

The colour drained from the man's face.

"No," he breathed. He took a step back. "Zest… Zexter Mifaelen. The Black Blade."

Zest's lips curled into a cold, amused smile. "I haven't gone by that name in a long time," he said. "Now it's just Zest. Blade's second-in-command. Or as the Abyss likes to call me, the Black Demon."

The man's sword dipped slightly, his body instinctively pulling back. There was fear in his eyes now. Genuine, unfiltered fear. "You were our captain," The man whispered. "The youngest to ever reach that rank. We all looked up to you. We wanted to be you."

"I don't remember you," Zest said flatly. "So you were either a new addition after I left, or just too low in the chain to be worth remembering."

"You killed them," The man hissed. "All of them. In a single night."

Zest's smile faded. "I did," he said.

"You betrayed us!"

"To betray you, I would have had to care," Zest said calmly, stepping forward, his eyes like frozen flames. "And I never did. You hunters assumed I was loyal because I did the job. Because I was efficient. Because I was better than all of you. But I was never one of you."

The man's face twisted in rage.

"And what do I have to be proud of?" Zest continued, his voice colder now, and deadlier. "Leading a pack of murderers? Slaughtering innocents? Dragging Gifted from their homes in the middle of the night? Watching your kind rip them apart in the name of 'justice'?"

Zest's voice grew quieter, but it hit like thunder. "You didn't hunt criminals. You hunted children. You experimented on the broken. You caged the different. You called it duty, but it was murder."

He took another step forward. The air shifted.

"I swore the day I defected," Zest said, "that I'd bring the hunters down. I started with your squad. Now… I'll finish it."

The man's hands trembled on his sword. "You got a lot of nerve, Black Demon, showing your face after what you did! You were a legend among us! We trusted you!"

Zest's voice became deadly quiet. "And that was your mistake." His eyes burned. "You see, I have one goal. One target I promised myself I'd kill. Nicolosi. Your beloved leader. The man who turned Eldario into a slaughterhouse. The man who built a world that treats Gifted as vermin. The man who lied to the public. Who feeds the hate. And who sent you to clean up the messes he made."

Zest raised his dagger. "Now…" he said, his voice soft, dangerous, and final. "Shall we dance?" He smiled again, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Also, I want to know your name," Zest added.

The man frowned. "Why?"

Zest's smile turned cold. "So I know what name to carve on your grave."

The man snarled, lunging forward in a burst of rage.

Zest didn't flinch.

He welcomed the fight.

And the ghosts of the past rose up to meet them in the blood-soaked shadows of Veridale.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.