Two days ago at the Skyfather Zenith Party...
The estate loomed like a sleeping god in the dark, veiled behind magic, steel, and madness. Arianna stood beneath the moon's silver gaze, her chest rising and falling with quiet tension. The neurochip behind her ear pulsed once—connection secured. Her thoughts bled into the minds of her unit, and theirs into hers. A thousand fears shared by a single soul.
"Hey, Cass," Arianna said, voice flowing warm and steady through the link. Her face shimmered into Cassy's vision, anchored amid the chaos. "You ready for this? You're the only one who can get close enough."
Cassy stood at the edge of the courtyard, disguised and poised. Her face was stone, but Arianna could feel the shake in her core.
"I have to be," Cassy whispered.
Jalen's voice cut in with a smirk. "If anyone can pull it off, it's you. You've been living in the snake pit for months."
"And tonight," Kira added, adjusting the straps on her gauntlet, "you get to cut off the serpent's head."
A low hum passed between them all as the squad clustered briefly behind the outer gates. Their neuro-tech link buzzed beneath their skin, masking their psychic signatures with a frequency designed to nullify detection spells—one of Balphamet's gifts.
Luma's voice popped through the mental channel, a little too bright. "Still can't believe we're using a weapon from him. You know how many laws this breaks?"
"No one's ever killed a vampire," Arianna replied quietly. "Until Balphamet did."
"Exactly," Cassy said. "If we want to take down the Skyfather's, we need more than permission. We need results."
They all fell silent for a moment, the truth sinking in. Vampires weren't just immortal—they were mythologically untouchable. Beyond even the divine. But Balphamet—the Devil of Calamity—had cracked the code. Found a way to wound the undying. His cursed-forged metal wrapped in rose thorn bush roots had made him the first ever threat to the vampires.
And tonight, they would test that miracle for themselves.
"Trusting a devil is shaky. But the enemy of our enemy is our friend. Balphamet will handle Dracula," Arianna murmured, her voice more prayer than statement. "We just have to finish the job on our end. Damian and Jeryko die tonight."
The team fanned out, slipping past detection spells and barriers with ease. The neurochips synchronized in a perfect loop. Every heartbeat shared. Every breath connected.
Cassy turned once before entering the hall, catching Arianna's eye. Stay with me, she said through the link.
Always.
After twenty minutes... It all went wrong.
Kira's death hit like a bullet to the brain. Arianna felt it—not just the ending of a life, but the implosion of thoughts, the shatter of presence. A scream with no sound. He was gone.
Jalen followed. One moment cracking jokes through the link. The next, static. Black.
Then Luma—her fear folding in on itself as Damian ripped her apart.
No. No no no—
Arianna backed into the shadows, hyperventilating, paralyzed. Each loss shattered another piece of her soul. Their presence disappeared from the link one by one.
"Cass—Cassy—!" she called out mentally.
But Cassy didn't respond.
Only the flash of green flames in the distance. The unmistakable scent of death.
And then—her.
Cassy's death came slow. Prolonged. Arianna felt her friend's pain lingering, the way the link held her final emotions like an echo: terror, defiance, regret.
The link collapsed in on itself.
And Arianna ran.
She stumbled outside, chest heaving. But when she turned to go back, mustering a tiny bit of courage after ten minutes a daqui barrier snapped into place—an invisible wall, humming with blacklight energy.
"No—no, please!" she cried, pounding her fists against it. Each hit electrocuted her causing her to cough up blood. She kept screaming. Trying to fight through the pain.
Inside, the screams were loud. Everyone was being killed. She could feel the heat of Damian's flames from outside the barrier. She knew she had to flee before she would eventually burn.
She could still feel her team fading through the ghost of the link. All of them. Her family. Her home.
"I should've fought," she whispered. "I should've done something—"
But the barrier didn't care. The Skyfather's won.
Arianna ran away, sobbing, powerless.
Eventually she made it to her ship. The ship hummed softly, but Arianna couldn't hear it. Not over the static still ringing in her head—the phantom whispers of voices now gone.
She sat alone in the medical bay, hands shaking, covered in blood. Her face was hollow, eyes vacant. The medics had offered to sedate her. She refused.
She didn't deserve sleep.
The neurochip had been fried during her escape, its neural matrix overloading after the last member of her squad—after Cassy—died.
They're gone.
All of them.
She had screamed at the barrier until her throat bled. Had stayed there, pounding her fists against it until the very last flicker of psychic connection faded into silence.
And then, when she couldn't stand anymore, she ran. Like a coward.
The door to the medbay slid open. High Commander Veyla stepped in, flanked by two Talmari guards. Her expression was unreadable—part judgment, part pity.
Arianna didn't stand.
Veyla approached, the polished silver of her armor reflecting the sterile lights. "You're the only one who made it out alive."
Arianna nodded weakly. "That wasn't the plan."
"No," Veyla said. "It wasn't." She sat across from her, folding her hands. "We monitored your vitals. The neuro-link confirmed everything. Your team made contact. You all had confirmation that the Skyfather's were present. And yet..."
"They died," Arianna whispered. "One by one. I felt all of them die. And I did nothing."
"You survived."
"That's not the same."
"No," Veyla said. "It isn't."
A long silence.
"They were using it," Arianna said, her voice hoarse. "The weapon from Balphamet. It worked. Damian was injured. He was actually bleeding. That's why they killed everyone at the party—they were scared. They knew the weapon was real. We proved it."
"Then your mission wasn't a complete failure," Veyla said. "We finally have a weakness thanks to the Stryx."
Arianna's gaze hardened. "At what cost?"
"Every war begins with sacrifice. And make no mistake, Arianna—this is war. Balphamet is preparing to engage Dracula. His forces are strong. If the Stryx succeeds, the Skyfather's lose their father and their teacher. But that will mean nothing if Damian and Jeryko remain unchecked. That was your team's purpose: eliminate the sons. Cut off the head while the monster is distracted."
Arianna clenched her fists. "We weren't enough."
"Not this time."
There was no sympathy in Veyla's voice. Only cold purpose.
Arianna stood slowly, wavering. Her legs screamed in protest, but she wouldn't collapse—not again. Not in front of them.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
Veyla studied her for a long moment. "Rest. Heal. Mourn. But when the time comes, we'll need you again. And next time, you won't be the shadow behind the squad."
Arianna blinked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Veyla said, rising, "next time, you lead. We know how they respond to aggression. We're slowly picking up on their tactics. That's twice now they chose to kill everything and everyone at the slightest inconvenience. They're sloppy. They'll even kill their own. If we play our cards right they'll down take their own empire for us."
Two weeks later...
The early light filtered through the blinds, cutting soft lines across the tangled bedsheets. Arianna lay still, curled against the warmth of her boyfriend Jin's chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. His arm was draped lazily over her waist, their legs tangled beneath the covers like roots.
For just a moment, she allowed herself to pretend nothing outside this room existed.
Then the memories came back. Like always. The Skyfather party.
Her best friend—Cassy. Her scream, short and swallowed by a hot green flash. The way Damian didn't even turn his head as she was disintegrated on a pile of bodies. All lumped together like trash. Like she was nothing. Like none of them mattered.
Arianna blinked up at the ceiling, her throat dry. Her fingers traced Jin's hand absently.
He stirred beside her. "You're not sleeping again."
"I'm fine."
"You always say that when you're lying."
She sighed, propped herself up on one elbow, curls falling over her shoulder. Her dark brown eyes met his—soft, almond-shaped and heavy with concern. "I had another nightmare. Same one."
Jin rubbed his eyes. "The one about your team?"
"We tried to kill what is basically a god, Jin. And they didn't even blink twice before my team was all dead in an instant. I felt all their pain. One by one I felt each of them being torn apart."
There was a pause. Then Jin sat up, the sheet falling from his chest. "You've got survivor's guilt. I get it. But this isn't your war. I told you me and my father are going to handle it."
"It became personal the second Babylon's drugs killed my cousin Luke. So of course I took this case. Now they've murdered my team," Arianna said, her voice low, almost a whisper. "I've spent more time with them over the years than even my own family."
Jin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Babylon's not just any gang though. It's an empire. They deal weapons that rewrite physics. Drugs that let people relive alternate timelines. They profit off collapsed realities, slave planets, weapons and mass addiction. All kinds of shit."
"I know," Arianna said. "And I'm still going."
He looked over at her, jaw tight. "I'll be honest, you walk into that again, and I don't know if you're coming back. I won't always be around to protect you. Underworld is becoming more and more difficult to sneak away from. You were more than lucky you made it back the first time."
Arianna reached for his hand. "I'm scared. Every part of me wants to run. But Babylon is spreading—sector by sector, system by system. They're expanding at a rate we can't begin to understand. The Talmari Justice System thinks they're uncontainable. Even with the new weapon from your father it's hard. The founding members are so strong it's impossible to use it."
"At least now there's a fighting chance. Before vampires couldn't die. Now we believe they can." Jin turned to her, voice soft. "I saw Damian's scar. It hasn't healed. He tried to play it off but he's way too cocky to leave a mark on him from an opponent. Which means the rose bush works. We're getting close. Listen I can avenge your team and everyone you love. So why do you need to fight? This case is out of your league."
"Because I've seen what they've done. Because I'm still standing. And because my team deserves more than a name on a wall for their service."
He touched her cheek, brushing away a stray curl. "And what do you deserve?"
Arianna didn't answer.
Jin pulled her into a hug, holding her like he could shield her from whats to come. "If you're going to do this," he said, "promise me one thing."
"What?"
"Don't lose who you are trying to fight them."
She closed her eyes, whispering into his collarbone. "I don't know if that's possible."
"But promise anyway."
She pulled back, nodded. "I promise."
Jin kissed her—slow, like he didn't want to let go. "Then go do what you have to. Call me if you get into any trouble."
***Talmari Justice System***
The transport ship hissed as it docked at the Talmari Citadel, its obsidian frame gleaming under the light of seven artificial suns. Arianna stepped off the ramp alone, her badge clipped to the collar of her uniform. Her curls were pulled back into a loose tie, a few strands falling around her eyes.
Her boots echoed in the marble corridor—each step taking her further away from Jin and deeper into the storm.
She was met by a towering figure in red robes, their gold-plated mask shaped like an owl with a burning halo behind it.
"Detective Arianna Kale," the being spoke. "The Council has been expecting you."
"I'm not late," she said, her voice firm despite the pulse pounding in her chest.
"No," the figure replied, turning. "But your time is already running out."
They led her through a series of echoing halls until they reached a chamber lined with floating monoliths. Each one bore a glowing seal—the crest of a world Babylon had touched. A Talmari general stood in the center, flanked by psychic adjudicators and god-scribes. The room hummed with celestial authority.
The general's body shimmered with stardust beneath his transparent armor, his eyes glowing like nebulae. "Detective Kale," he said, addressing her directly. "Your record is... exceptional. Ten successful raids across three galaxies. Uncovered a Void Ring smuggling empire. Survived a Nexus collapse. And yet—"
"I'm still human," Arianna said flatly. "I'm just someone who hasn't died yet."
The general nodded slowly. "Which is exactly why we chose you. Babylon is not just a syndicate. They are a cancer of reality itself. The Skyfather brothers, Damian and Jeryko, have erased timelines for sport. Liza has rewritten planetary mind fields with a single thought. Nova—"
"High Arc Angel from the Holy Kingdom," Arianna finished.
The general's tone darkened. "We need someone who knows fear. Whose tasted loss. Someone who doesn't worship power—but understands it."
"I watched my team get ripped apart and turn to ash because we tried to take them down," she said, her voice tight. "I know exactly what I'm walking into."
A heavy silence followed.
"We're not sending you to kill them," the general said. "We're sending you to find out how they've evaded divine prosecution for this long. Babylon's roots run beneath the cosmic order itself. We suspect they've infiltrated the Celestial Accord."
Arianna's stomach turned. That would mean Babylon had leverage over the divine realms themselves. Underworld and the Holy Kingdom. It could be how they smuggle divine artillery into the mortal realms.
"You want me to chase shadows," she said.
"No," the general replied. "We want you to expose the darkness that's already inside the light."
Arianna's hands curled into fists. "And when I find it?"
"You'll be authorized to do whatever justice demands," the general said. "Including execution."
The words fell like iron.
Her mind flashed back to Jin's hand on her cheek. His voice—"Just promise me you'll come back. All of you."
Arianna inhaled slowly, then nodded once. "Give me the file. I'll bring the truth back in my own hands. Or not at all."
A Talmari scribe floated a glowing data disc into her palm. Her mission had officially begun.
And somewhere, across stars and broken dimensions, Babylon kept laughing.
***THE ROT***
The underbelly of Sector 19 didn't sleep—it seethed.
Arianna stepped out of the stolen cruiser, her face hidden behind a synth-mask shaped like a bronze skull, her badge swapped for a forged dealer's sigil. The air here was thick with ionized smoke and whispers—half-languages from dying galaxies, transaction codes masked in curses, weapons humming with forbidden energy. Every soul on the street looked like they'd killed before noon.
This was a Babylon market. Not officially. Not openly. But everyone here knew who kept the blood flowing—and who profited from it.
She moved through the crowd, her curls tucked under a hood, her stride sharp and unafraid. Fear was a scent here, and if they caught it on you, you were prey.
Behind her, a dying sun flickered overhead, its fading light sold off in slivers to dark-market time smugglers. Even the sky was being parted and auctioned.
Arianna scanned her surroundings: cyber-spliced mercs haggling over liquid gravity cannons; addicts gnawing on crystalline spores that whispered secrets from dead universes; children running through the alleys with loaded disruptor pistols. It was all Babylon's influence. Rot dressed in chrome.
She spotted her target near a stall glowing red: Kreed Savalon, mid-tier supplier, known for offloading weapons created by Nova herself—organic tech that latched onto your nervous system and turned rage into artillery.
He was half-machine now, jaw reconstructed with alien bone, skin peeled back to reveal neon-lit circuitry. Arianna knew his kind. Broken men dressed in power.
She approached, her voice low and disguised. "Heard you're selling something divine. I'm looking for a shipment—clean angels, synthetic seraphs, special grade."
Kreed didn't look up. "Who's asking?"
"Someone who doesn't want to ask twice."
That made him pause.
He glanced at her, scanning. "You're late. The last shipment moved through the Leviathan Gate yesterday. You wanna catch up, you better talk to a man named Oro. Runs through the—"
Arianna grabbed him by the throat and slammed his head into the table.
"Don't feed me scraps," she growled. "You're not Babylon. You're a runner. You think I came all this way for rumors?"
He spat blood and laughed. "Then you're already dead."
A soft click behind her.
She turned—three armed guards. Babylon thugs. Red lenses. Pulse rifles with quantum hooks.
Arianna smiled behind the mask. "Finally."
In one motion, she dropped a stun mine and dove behind a collapsed vendor stall. The explosion was silent—but the impact sent two of them flying. She rolled, landed in a crouch, and fired two quick shots—one to disable, the other to remind them she could've aimed to kill.
The third guard hesitated. She yanked off her mask.
"Tell your superiors," she said, eyes cold. "The Talmari Justice System is watching. I'm coming for everything."
The guard ran. Kreed, half-conscious, tried to crawl away. Arianna crouched beside him, dragging him back by the collar.
"You're gonna introduce me to Oro," she said. "And if you lie again, I won't be so gentle."
***Oro's Gate***
The ride to Oro's compound was silent—Kreed's head slumped against the side of the cruiser, a cauterized wound burning across his arm where Arianna had disabled him. She drove with one hand, the other resting near her plasma gun, finger twitching every time he moved.
They cut through the ruins of a shattered station, a region where Babylon's reach was visible in every broken wall, every stolen child selling pills to travelers. No law dared come here. Only predators and ghosts.
"Why him?" she finally asked.
Kreed didn't respond.
Arianna slammed her boot into his chest. The vehicle swerved slightly.
"Why Oro?" she repeated, voice razor-sharp.
Kreed coughed, teeth stained blue. "Because Oro ain't like the rest. He doesn't sell product. He designs it. Babylon tests everything through him first. Weapons. Chemicals. Concepts. You ever heard of soulcrack? The stuff that lets you relive your happiest memory until your brain burns out? That was him."
Arianna's jaw clenched. Another friend she could've saved. Another death that could've been undone.
"And the weapons?" she asked.
Kreed chuckled darkly. "He doesn't make guns. He makes triggers. Rage-responsive implants. Thought-activated execution tech. Babylon doesn't sell war—they sell the urge to start one."
They descended into an underground tunnel masked by a collapsing junkyard. Hidden entry. Babylon-level encryption. She could smell the tech corruption in the air—sentient steel humming behind the walls.
Oro's compound wasn't big. It was efficient. A dome of black glass and bio-metal, with guards that looked half-cloned, half-spawned. They wore no insignia. Babylon never branded what it couldn't afford to lose.
Arianna walked with Kreed toward the entrance. Her cover still held—for now. But she could feel eyes scanning her body, reading blood pressure, pupil dilation, resonance patterns.
The doors opened.
The inside looked more like a cathedral than a lab—wires hanging like vines, blue fire dancing in jars, monitors whispering in dead languages. At the center sat a thin, silver-haired man in a floating chair of bones and glass. His left eye was a spinning ring of runes. His right was just... empty. Not hollow—gone, like reality refused to fill it in.
"You brought me a Talmari dog?" he said without looking up.
Kreed froze. "She said she was—"
"I know who she is," Oro said, finally meeting Arianna's gaze. "I smelled the grief on her before she walked in."
Arianna didn't flinch. "Good. Then you know what happens next."
Oro smiled. "Let me guess—you want the names. The shipping lanes. The codes. Maybe even the source of our weaponry. You think this is justice?"
"No," she said. "This is excavation. I'm digging your empire out by the roots."
He leaned forward, amused. "And what makes you think Babylon has roots? We're not planted, sweetheart. We're viral. We evolve."
She tossed a flash drive onto the table—Talmari-authorized. Marked for galactic indictment.
"Give me the files," she said. "Or I burn this place to the ground and walk out with your teeth in a pouch."
The lights dimmed.
Oro didn't reach for a weapon. He simply smiled—and everything around her began to shift. The room... twitched.
Reality itself bent. And then—
"She's inside. Lock the doors."
Arianna spun around. Kreed was gone. Gone? No—phased out. The walls turned liquid. Guards were pouring in. Oro had never planned to talk.
Babylon knew she was coming.
She drew her sidearm.
"Guess I'll do this the hard way."
***PLANET GIA***
The sky cracked open in a quiet shimmer as the luxury spacecraft descended onto the rooftop landing pad of her private estate. The sleek, obsidian vessel glided to a halt with silent precision, the kind of tech only the elite could touch—smooth, seamless, spell-infused, and silent.
As the bay doors slid open, the light caught her first.
Liza stepped onto the platform, wind catching the hem of her designer sundress—flowy, pale lavender with golden embroidery that danced like runes in the sun. The fabric clung in all the right places, brushing over her full breasts and cinched waist before flowing out into a soft, airy skirt that kissed her thighs with every step. Her dark cocoa skin glowed beneath the light, the magical undertones shimmering faintly with every breath she took.
Around her neck sat a delicate chain of astral crystal and sunstone, rare jewels mined from fallen stars—each one pulsing faintly with enchanted heat. Thick diamond cuffs adorned her wrists, and on her fingers sat rings of black gold and shadow-gems—status symbols in the magical underworld.
Her hair was braided down her back with gold thread woven through the strands. A pair of oval sunglasses sat perched on her nose, hiding her chocolate eyes. Her heels—lace-strapped and rune-inscribed—clicked softly against the marble as she walked through the penthouse's top-floor landing, her presence a blend of effortless elegance and latent danger.
Liza didn't need bodyguards.
She was the threat.
Inside, the cool air of her estate greeted her like an old lover. High ceilings, floating glass lanterns, and walls laced with protective glyphs hummed around her. But none of it made her feel home.
Not really.
She kicked off her heels and set her sunglasses on the entryway table. The house was still—until the scent of soul food floated to her from the kitchen.
Liza smiled faintly.
"She never learns," she murmured.
Sure enough, there was Mrs. Jackson, humming softly over a pot, her head wrapped in a patterned scarf, apron dusted with flour, and slippers dragging across the floor like a rhythm from the old world.
Mrs. Jackson didn't turn around. "You finally showed up, child."
"I've been working," Liza said, stepping into the kitchen.
"For three months?"
"I know I'm sorry." Liza leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. "I had to handle a few things."
"Mmm-hmm. Just like your daddy. Always runnin', always lyin'. May god rest his soul," she said, then turned with a smirk. "But at least you came back in a dress this time. And not covered in blood."
Liza smirks with a chuckle. "Progress."
"Expensive progress," Mrs. Jackson muttered, giving her a once-over. "You got the look of a goddess and the habits of a killer. Doesn't matter what dress you put on that soul, baby girl."
Liza paused taking in the weight of her words.
"You keep scaring me like this I'm gonna have you pay me a nightmare fee. Cause I have plenty of 'em." Mrs. Jackson said.
Liza leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "I pay you enough to buy planets."
"Money isn't the problem," Mrs. Jackson replied, turning now with a wooden spoon in hand. Her eyes softened. "I've known you since you were a little girl. You look tired. That façade isn't fooling me."
"I'm good," Liza lied.
"You were gone three months, Liza. That ain't 'good.' That's a girl running from herself."
Liza exhaled and moved to sit at the island. "I'm just... working."
Mrs. Jackson put down the spoon and pulled a pan of cornbread out of the oven. "And this line of work is gonna put you in the ground."
"I'm stacking," Liza muttered. "Just need a little more. Then I'm out."
Mrs. Jackson narrowed her eyes. "Out? From Babylon?"
Liza hesitated.
"I've seen that look before too child. You got blood on your mind and regret in your bones."
"I don't want this forever," Liza finally said. "The parties, the power, the fucking paranoia. I'm tired. Every corner has death behind it."
"You got more money than the devil," Mrs. Jackson said gently. "But you still ain't free."
"That's why I'm still stacking."
Mrs. Jackson shook her head. "Ain't no stack big enough to run from the Skyfather's. Those boys built Babylon on fear. You know how they treat traitors."
"I'm not betraying anyone," Liza said. "I just want... out."
"And Damian?"
Liza fell silent.
Mrs. Jackson set a plate in front of her. Fried catfish, creamy mac and cheese, cornbread, collards greens swimming in broth. Food meant for healing.
"I think... I think I'm in love with him," Liza admitted quietly.
Mrs. Jackson raised a brow. "Since when?"
"Since too long," Liza whispered. "We've been on and off. But every time I leave, I end up right back there. He's paranoid—he doesn't trust easy. If I tell him I want to quit... he'll think I'm turning on him."
"And you think he'll kill you?"
"No," Liza said. "But he'll never let me walk away. Not really. I fought tooth and nail for my spot in Babylon. I helped build this empire with them. He'll see it as betrayal even if I walk away quietly."
"You made this bed, baby."
"I know."
Mrs. Jackson sat beside her now, placing a hand over hers. "But just 'cause you made the bed doesn't mean you gotta sleep in it forever."
"I don't think I have a choice."
"You always have a choice. It's just sometimes... both options hurt."
Liza looked down at the food but couldn't bring herself to eat. She felt the weight of all she'd done, and all she still had to do.
Then, her phone buzzed on the counter.
One message.
Oro: "High Arcana. Get to The Rot asap."
Liza stared at the message.
"What's wrong?" Mrs. Jackson asks.
"I have to go," Liza said. Her body now dissolving through a portal.
***THE ROT***
The battleship didn't descend from the sky this time.
It sank.
Through black clouds and jagged mountain canyons, past hovering defense pylons and rune-sealed checkpoints, it dove toward a forgotten scar in the planet's crust—The Deep Below, Babylon's oldest and most arcane prison zone. No maps, no cameras, no records. Only rumor and fear.
The entrance was a massive chasm, wide enough to swallow cities whole. A swirling vortex of ash and magic circled its mouth. Screams echoed faintly from somewhere deep beneath, carried by wind and spell alike. No one came here by choice.
The ship pierced the rim and vanished into the depths.
The darkness was not mere absence of light—it was sentient, clinging to the hull, whispering in tongues long erased from memory. Old gods had bled here. Ancient beasts had died cursing the stars. And now, it housed Babylon's most dangerous secrets.
When the ship docked at a spiraling obsidian platform suspended over the abyss, Liza stood alone at the exit chamber.
She looked... human.
Liza paused at the threshold, taking a long, deep breath.
Then, the air trembled.
Liza's body shimmered.
Veins of pale starlight pulsed beneath her skin. Her clothes dissolved like ash, reforming into her battle form—a charcoal-gray bodysuit with black trim, hugged perfectly to her curves. Her hair spilled free in oceanic waves—sea-blue, streaked with green, glowing crystals embedded like constellations. Her eyes burned, turning emerald green, the mark of a being touched by the eldritch power of Omni Force.
Her wings didn't appear—yet. But the presence of them was felt. A psychic pressure. The gravity in the room shifted.
Then the ramp hissed open, bathing the corridor in silver-blue light.
She descended from the ramp slowly.
Oro waited at the base, arms folded behind his back. The moment her foot touched the landing pad, he bowed—not deeply, but just enough to show submission without self-degradation.
"High Arcana," he said, avoiding eye contact.
"Report," Liza said coolly.
"The Talmari agent infiltrated and nearly vaporized Kreed. She was gunning for intel—code lanes, testing routes, soulcrack vectors. She didn't get far, but she knew what to ask."
"Where is she now?"
"Detained," Oro said. "Still conscious. Barely."
Liza nodded once. "Have her prepped. I'll begin the extraction."
"Understood."
Oro hesitated—just a flicker of unease before he spoke again.
"She's got a blocker. Neuro-tech. Babylon dark-market, but Talmari calibrated. It's the reason none of our telepaths could breach her mind."
"What's her name?" she asked.
"Ariana. Talmari agent."
Liza paused mid-step.
Talmari.
The name left a sour taste in her mouth.
She turned her head, just slightly. "And you're sure she's alone?"
"For now. But if she's here... then others will follow."
Liza's expression darkened. Her aura flared—faintly, just enough to remind Oro how easily she could snap his spine like a wishbone.
"Then let's be swift," she said. "Before they crawl out of whatever sanctified hole they're watching us from."
She vanished into the mist.
And the Underhold shivered in her wake.
They kept Ariana suspended—not by chains, but by spellwire. Glimmering red threads ran from ceiling to floor, binding her wrists and ankles like a puppet. She hovered midair, limp, her face bloodied, her lips split.
Yet her mind was steel.
Liza stood in the shadows of the chamber—if you could call it a chamber. It felt more like a mausoleum. Walls of solid stone pulsed with death-magic sigils, and the air was thick with psychic residue. Centuries of pain had been recorded here like dust.
She circled the girl once. Slowly.
"Ariana," she said softly. "Can you hear me?"
Ariana didn't respond.
Liza's eyes narrowed. She stepped closer, hands behind her back, posture imperial.
"You've been trained. Conditioned. I can feel the fortress you've built inside your mind. But I'm not here to knock on the door."
She raised a single finger and pressed it to Ariana's temple.
"I'm here to walk through the walls."
A soft chime echoed through the room. Liza's eyes glowed as she entered Ariana's psyche.
She pushed inward gently, slipping past the outer memories—blood, fire, gunmetal, a field of white flowers turning black. But as soon as she reached the second layer, she hit a wall.
Not metaphorical.
A literal wall of sound, vibrating in jagged frequencies. Her thoughts crackled, disoriented. The psychic connection trembled.
Pain lanced through her temples.
She stumbled back, blinking.
Behind Ariana's ear, something buzzed faintly—a neuro-tech implant, no bigger than a fingernail, humming like a wasp in winter.
Liza tilted her head. "This must be the frequency blocker Oro mentioned."
Oro's voice came from the corner. "We couldn't crack it without causing permanent damage. One of Babylon's mind-pushers tried. Died of a seizure."
Liza didn't look at him. "They simply weren't strong enough."
She stepped forward again, pressing her palm flat against Ariana's chest.
"I am."
This time she went slower. She entered through Ariana's breath—the rhythm of her lungs, the echo of childhood laughter buried in the airflow of her memories.
For a moment, she glimpsed a field, a woman's face, and soft fingers brushing her hair. Then—static. The frequency surged like a tidal wave of feedback.
Liza was blasted back again, this time blood trailing from one nostril.
She wiped it with a silk cloth, unimpressed.
"I got further this time. She's buried something deep. I don't want to kill her so I'll go another route."
Oro looked confused. "What then?"
"I'm going to bind her mind to mine. Thread for thread. Memory for memory. Soul to soul."
"That's insane."
"No," Liza said, eyes now gleaming with infinite blue. "It's fairy magic."
Liza raised both hands, and the room shifted. The sigils on the walls flared to life, and the air dropped ten degrees. Her voice began to chant in a language older than time itself—Sylphic Feyrun, the ancient tongue of the Arcana.
Blue flames rose around her, flickering like ghost petals.
She leaned forward and kissed Ariana on the forehead.
The spell detonated.
Her consciousness was not a spear now, but a web. Dozens of threads shot outward from her soul, attaching to Ariana's memories, thoughts, emotions, and fears. Each thread humming with elemental clarity.
The implant pulsed—once, twice—and then burned out in a puff of smoke.
Liza exhaled sharply. "Now we see."
Inside Ariana's Mind…
She found herself standing on a train platform in the rain. Not metaphor. Memory.
Ariana stood at age 12, clutching a soaked backpack. Behind her—corpses. Talmari agents in white armor stepped over them like nothing had happened. She wasn't their target.
She was the survivor.
Flashes:
A mother's voice whispering, "Don't let them know who you are."
A cell. Cold. Alone.
The sound of a judge slamming a gavel with the words: "Marked for Talmari development."
Then—
The Program.
Liza saw Ariana, now 17, trained like a weapon. Injected with silversong, a compound that tortures with psychic echo loops, forcing her to relive trauma until obedience became her only instinct. She was no agent.
She was a forged mindblade, designed to take down Babylon specifically.
The last memory shook Liza to her core.
A war room. Talmari generals. Hologram of the founders, highlighted in red.
There were several projects in development. One for each founding member of Babylon.
Silversong Agents: Created to bypass Liza's psychic detection and be immune to most mental attacks. Anti-magic armor to make them more resilient to each of five spell categories. Summoning, Lobiatos, Daqui, Amplification, Nature, Astral and Necromancy. These agents will infiltrate Babylon from the inside. Work for them and report back. The neuro-tech
Knights of Bird Watch: Super-humans and aliens trained in the art of divine weapon usage. Created to battle the arc angel Nova. Enhanced with dark artifacts and armor. There were long notes about the divine and how to kill them. An angel cannot use holy magic to kill another angel. Devils cannot use demonic magic kill other devils. But the two can purge each other.
Project Alpha: Classified
Targets Status: Priority Kill on Sight.
Reality…
Liza pulled back—gasping.
The lights flickered as her aura surged, shadows curling at the edges of the chamber. Her fingers trembled slightly as they pressed to her chest, not from fear, but the staggering weight of revelation.
This... she thought. This has been centuries of planning.
Agents. Moles. Operatives embedded in and out of Babylon—just like Cassy. The only reason they dared believe their plan would work on her was because they had no idea what she truly was.
She's isn't just a witch. A being capable of using all categories of magic. She was half fairy.
Fairies are a convergence point of every magical art. A creature that shape the very rules of magic, as they created them.
Had she known the truth during the party, she would've burned through their neuro-tech at the party—before the innocents were caught in the slaughter that followed. She would've marked each one. So that the right people could've died preventing any meaningless bloodshed. She had questioned Damian and Jeryko's ruthlessness and paranoia. But now she saw it for what it was: a shadow deeper than anything they'd faced before.
There would be no forgiveness. Only correction.
Oro stepped forward carefully, uneasy with the energy radiating from her.
"What did you see?" he asked.
Liza didn't answer. Her eyes shimmered with starlight as she opened a portal with a wave of her hand. "I'll send a psychic report."
Without another word, she vanished.
The portal folded shut behind her.
Oro turned to Ariana's still-warm body, the girl's face twisted in the final strain of resistance.
He exhaled slowly. "She read her mind... beyond time. In less than a Planck instant, the Arcana unraveled every buried thought, every coded memory, every locked trauma."
He knelt beside the corpse and whispered, as if speaking to the dead:
"She didn't just invade your mind—she transcended it. A mind peeled open faster than causality could register. That's what a true master of sorcery looks like."
Silence returned.
And far away—between dimensions, through veils of magic and stars—Liza flew alone, her eyes already fixed on the war to come.
The Arcana had seen the threads.
Now she would unravel them.