The gunshots still echoed in Clarice's ears.
"BANG!!!...BANG!!!...".
Each recoil had jolted through her small frame, the rifle's kickback leaving her shoulder sore. Now, sitting on a pile of crates outside the ruined HYDRA base, the adrenaline was fading—and the weight of what she'd done came crashing down. Her hands trembled. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Silent tears streaked through the grime on her cheeks.
I knelt before her, pressing my forehead against hers.
"Breathe, Blink. Breathe."
My voice was calm, steady—an anchor in the storm of her thoughts. Slowly, she matched her breathing to mine, her panicked gulps of air smoothing into something more controlled. The mind-calming pheromones I released helped, easing the tension coiled tight in her muscles.
She had done well. Better than I expected. At first, she had hesitated—flinching at every shot, every cry of pain. But as we stormed through the base, as the rhythm of combat took over, she had fallen into step. Only now, in the aftermath, did the reality hit her.
A child shouldn't have to carry this weight. But this world didn't care about shouldn't.
Melancon—Clone—sat nearby, exhausted but composed. Three identical girls now reduced back to one, her energy spent but her mind steady, in terms of keeping it together, she was just right behind Psylocke.
As for Psylocke?
She stood apart, her violet eyes scanning the tree line, her fingers absently tracing the hilt of a psionic blade. The operation hadn't phased her. If anything, she seemed bored.
"Thank you, Sir," Blink murmured, wiping her nose with her sleeve. A shy, embarrassed smile flickered across her face. "I'm okay now."
"It's okay, kid. It's over." I ruffled her hair before standing and turning to the others. "You both did great. Clone, Psylocke—rest for now."
A simple gesture, patting their heads. Small kindnesses mattered. Especially tonight, they learned a lot tonight, and I am not coddling them at all. Might be too extreme on my side, but, since they were adamant about wanting to 'contribute' I would let them see just how real things can be.
"[Sir, we have collected everything. We are ready for you.]"
One of my Shadow Soldiers materialized from the darkness, bowing slightly before fading back into the ranks. The base had been picked clean—weapons, tech, supplies. Even the fallen HYDRA soldiers had been a 'gift', adding another hundred Shadows to my legion.
The massive hangar was filled with crates, stacked high like some twisted monument to our efficiency.
"Store."
I waved a hand. And just like that—everything vanished.
My [Inventory] screen flickered to life in my vision, a second tab now unlocked. Scrolling down, I saw it all—row after row of items, neatly cataloged and waiting. Weapons. Tech. Even a damn HYDRA jeep.
"What a joyous day, Magina," I muttered.
"[Congratulations, Father.]" Her voice in my earpiece was warm, proud. "[Finally, you've unlocked the Inventory.]"
A grin tugged at my lips. Ten months. Ten months of clawing my way up from nothing. Of fighting, scheming, surviving. And now? Level 52. Shadow Overlord's Aura—unlocked. [Inventory]—unlocked. I had my full system back.
The first item in my [Inventory] pulsed with a faint light. Sebastian Wilfred's Summoning Token. It thrummed, as if eager to be used. As if the man himself was waiting just beyond the veil, ready to step into this world and serve.
Soon.
But not tonight.
"Alright, let's move out, everyone." The operation had lasted forty-five minutes. Clean. Efficient. Successful.
No need to push our luck. HYDRA reinforcements could be on the way, and I wasn't in the mood for an encore. As we melted back into the trees, the base burning quietly behind us, I couldn't help but glance at the kids.
Blink walked a little taller. Clone seemed more confident. Even Psylocke had a faint smirk. They had survived their first real mission.
The operation had taken longer than necessary—nearly double the time it would have if I'd worked alone. But efficiency wasn't the goal tonight. Every moment had been a lesson. How to hold a rifle properly. When to take the shot. The safest way to use their powers without burning out.
I watched as the trio dragged themselves from the car, exhaustion written in the slump of their shoulders. Forge, still buzzing with adrenaline, bounced on his heels while Psylocke moved with her usual quiet grace. Melancon wobbled slightly, her clones having taken their toll. And Clarice—Blink—looked ready to collapse, her eyes red-rimmed but clear.
"Line up," I ordered. They snapped to attention, spines straight despite their weariness.
"Alright, everyone heads to showers and gets a good night's sleep. Dismissed."
"Yes, Sir!" four voices chorused.
Forge whooped, slinging an arm around Melancon's shoulders. "That was awesome! Did you see when I—"
His voice faded as they disappeared down the hall. Only Clarice lingered, her small frame hesitating before she turned and threw her arms around me in a sudden hug.
"Thank you, Sir," she mumbled into my jacket.
I patted her back. "Everything is fine, okay?"
She nodded against my chest before pulling away, offering a wobbly smile. Then she was gone, scurrying after the others.
I exhaled, watching her go.
They were kids. Kids who saw me as something between a commander and a father figure, eager for approval, desperate to prove themselves. And while part of me wanted to shield them from the ugliness of this world, the realist in me knew better. Better they learn now, in controlled conditions, than out there—where hesitation means death.
The office door hissed shut behind me, sealing away the outside world. My sanctuary.
"Welcome home, Father."
Magina's voice was a balm, her digital avatar flickering to life on the screen. Her eyes—usually sharp and calculating—were alight with something rare.
Excitement.
I collapsed onto the sofa, the weight of the night finally settling. "I'm home, Magina." A long sigh escaped me as the tension bled from my muscles.
"Father."
I cracked an eye open. "Yes, Magina?"
Her avatar leaned forward, eyes literally sparkling—an exaggerated, cartoonish glimmer that shouldn't have been possible.
I groaned. "Alright, alright. Let's summon him out."
Her grin could have powered a small city.
The [Inventory] screen materialized before me, its interface crisp and glowing. A single icon pulsed with promise—Sebastian Wilfred's Summoning Token.
I selected it.
"Sebastian Wilfred, heed my call."
The token dissolved into motes of light. Then—blinding white.
The office vanished, swallowed by a radiance so intense it seared my retinas. Ten seconds. That's how long it lasted. Ten seconds of pure, unfiltered power condensing into reality. And then, as suddenly as it came, the light receded.
There he stood.
Sebastian Wilfred.
190 centimeters of immaculate composure. Broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed, a golden monocle glinting over his left eye. His beard was trimmed to perfection, his posture radiating quiet authority. A mountain of a man.
My butler. My confidant. My friend.
For a moment, he simply observed his new surroundings, taking in the office, the screens, the world beyond the windows. Then—
"Hmm~" I mused, leaning back. "What's with the poncho and that long beard, my friend?"
Sebastian froze.
His head turned, slowly, as if afraid the voice was a trick of the mind. But then his gaze settled on me—*really* settled—and his breath caught.
Recognition.
'Certainty.'
In one fluid motion, he dropped to a knee, fist pressed to his chest in salute.
"I, Sebastian Wilfred, Head Butler of The Shadow Order Guild, loyal servant to The Unchallenged, The Unmatched, and The Everlasting Shadow Monarch of the Nine Realms, have answered your call." His voice was thick with reverence. "Oh, my lord."
I smiled.
"Welcome back, Sebastian."
The office hummed with latent energy; the air charged with possibility. Sebastian rose; his expression unreadable—but his eyes? They burned. Magina's screen flickered, her avatar clasping her hands together in glee.