The corridor was cold—like the breath of a dead god resting in eternal slumber. Zixuan's footsteps echoed against the steel walls as he walked, unhurried, each pace deliberate, fueled not by anger, but by justice, the kind only old war scars understand. His coat fluttered lightly, and his presence cut through the sterile air like a silent blade. He wasn't here as a commander. He was here as a brother, a witness, and perhaps... the next to break.
He approached the reinforced doors of the medical bay, the place where the survivors of hell lay. They slid open with a sigh. Zixuan entered, calm as snowfall, quiet as regret.
Inside, the scent of antiseptic warred with the iron tang of dried blood. Machines hummed a lullaby for the broken. Shiro lay still, connected to a drip, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of a man whose lungs had once known battle cries but now only whispered through pain. Neo lay nearby, swaddled in gauze, bruised and pale. Tian Yu sat slumped, his usual fire dampened, and Hlanya was motionless, yet alive.
Zixuan's eyes swept the room like a silent storm. He inhaled, then exhaled as if ready to carry the weight of their suffering on his shoulders.
"Hello, assassins," Zixuan said, his voice smooth like ice, but coated in vengeance.
Neo shifted slightly, and from dry, cracked lips came a whisper like a dying ember, "Hello, sir."
Zixuan stepped closer. The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was heavy with truths no words could explain. Then, in that same chilling voice that could command armies and shatter hearts, Zixuan asked,
"What did you see out there?"
Shiro, bandaged and bruised, forced himself to speak.
"A demon... a monster who was let loose and had no true home. The monster was lost... and now ready to set the world ablaze."
Neo added, eyes half-closed, voice frail,
"The monster was so fast... I'd say roughly fourteen times faster than the speed of sound..."
Zixuan's brow furrowed, not in confusion, but calculation.
"Did he use Metro?" he asked, turning to Tian Yu.
Tian Yu coughed and answered quietly,
"No sir. He didn't... not when he was fighting us."
Zixuan looked down for a moment, nodding.
"Looks like our monster has a bit of an ego," he muttered, mostly to himself, almost with bitter amusement.
Just then, the air grew colder, as if the concept of frost itself entered the room.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Footsteps approached. A figure stepped in, tall and cloaked in shades of ice and silver.
Ice Jhun, the Concept Wraith Slayer.
His voice came like a cracked glacier.
"Long time no see, new recruits."
Neo's eyes lit slightly. "I.J..." he said.
Ice chuckled, just a little.
"I'll make sure this little monster crew pays for their insignificance to this continent."
Zixuan smirked, just a little.
"Are the higher-ups and the two Orders here?"
Ice nodded. "Yes."
"Then we should take our leave," Zixuan said, straightening his coat like a soldier returning to war.
He turned to the boys—these broken pieces of a future war.
"Goodbye, boys."
They raised their hands, slow but full of silent loyalty.
Ice turned just before leaving.
"I'll come see you later. I've got something to tell you."
With that, Zixuan and Ice turned. Their steps were slow but sure. They walked out of the room and towards a black door 300 meters above—one that led to the council, the Orders, and perhaps, the next phase of war.