Minutes trickled by, each second stretching into an endless echo. Focus came at a cost—a cost Blanc wasn't happily enduring. When the entire world faded away and he became intimately aware of the very nature of his body, he noticed things. Like the fissures in the internal system he had worked so hard to build, cracking little by little. Reservoirs of strength became inaccessible, and his once-robust body, which had drawn heavily on those reserves, began to crumble. And it showed. His paling skin and the deepening wrinkles etched through the youthfulness of his facial features, even beneath the mask.
In his earlier years, Blanc had been unawakened and untalented. Society valued those who Awakened and gained talents far more than people like him. The Awakened were immensely gifted beings, capable of tapping into the core of reality and harvesting its diluted essence: mana, the energy that made the world turn. The Talented were an even rarer class of Awakened, given authority over some subset of objective or subjective reality.
The Unawakened, by contrast, were forced to live on society's fringes, forming its largest population while receiving the smallest share of resources. Unbeknownst to most, the Unawakened had every bit of the talent and potential the Awakened possessed—only theirs was trapped, inaccessible. Blanc didn't know why internal energy wasn't more widespread, nor did he particularly care to find out. What he did know, deeply and painfully, was the sheer lengths he had gone through to gain a foothold in this world. The thought of losing it all? That scorched and tortured him more than anything else.
Before the last discharge occurred, Blanc heard the faint sound of water droplets striking pipes in the tunnels to his left. At first, he dismissed the echoes as a potential breach in the structural integrity of the tunnels. But something about it didn't sit right. He couldn't afford to dismiss anomalies so easily. The inability to sweep his senses outward sent a chill through him, raising the hairs on his skin.
He worked quickly, adding the final touches to the fusion core before leaping backward.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a bluish shadow moving through the pipes at a speed almost imperceptible, even to him. His mind spun. He focused, straining to hear, but the droplets had stopped. Blanc became a blur, chasing the blue streak. Two seconds passed, and he realized he couldn't keep up—the shadow was far too fast, slippery- like Awakened.
Reluctantly, he abandoned the chase, choosing instead to focus on his goal. He wound his way through the tunnels until he reached the manhole he had come from.
The bluish shadow would have to wait. He couldn't afford to waste another moment.
The long tunnel leading to the surface was treacherous, almost impossible to climb. But he didn't hesitate. He scaled it anyway.
He had only twenty-seven seconds left. He made the most of it. When he reached the top, he bolted toward Alexandria's mansion, expertly navigating the sudden darkness that had plunged the entire ten-block radius into chaos. Vaulting over fences, sliding through gates, and climbing over every urban obstacle in his path, he pressed on.
Blanc became one with his surroundings. Every subtle sound slithering through the urban landscape sharpened in his strained hearing. He heard it all—but with caution. When Alexandria's security rushed from one end of the large walled compound to the other, he felt it. With that knowledge, he tore through their defenses, making precise, well-timed turns that brought him to the backyard.
Alexandria's mansion was a relic from the past, and with it came flaws few knew of. The safety bunker and vault were built underground, accessible through a few external entry points. Most of these were heavily guarded—but at least three were not. Blanc had used these paths many times over the years.
---
Twenty seconds.
An aged mana pipe ran along the side of the mansion, and beneath it, hidden in the fertile grass, lay a secret that had cost Alexandria a small fortune over the years. A secret he would never live to know. Blanc ran his fingers across the wall, ignoring the odd sensation caused by the interaction between the microscopic gravity field produced by his gloves and the surface itself.
Got it.
The wall hissed as a segment of it broke away. The grass beside it folded like a sackcloth, revealing an abyss. Its black maw led directly to Alexandria's vault and bunker—the safest place in the mansion. Without hesitation, Blanc slipped inside.
It all lasted a second. Black filled his vision—until it didn't. He landed on a hard metallic surface: the vault. Crawling silently along its length, he found his entry point and twisted the iron gear that allowed access. Thanking the spirits for the silent mechanism, he slipped through and landed on a marble floor.
Alexandria, the man in question, sat elsewhere, his attention drawn to something entirely different. The calmness emanating from him carried the stench of a man too enthralled by his own authority. He lounged in a reclining chair made from aeon tiger fur, the rarest kind a minor noble could hope to purchase. The fur's deep blue hue, speckled with angelic white streaks, seemed to shimmer under the dim light. Seeing Alexandria so nonchalant, so utterly unbothered, twisted a knife in Blanc's chest.
Why was he so calm?
When Alexandria finally noticed someone else in the room, he jolted to his feet. His eyes, deep-set and sunken, flared with fear, glossed with vitriol and anger. Trembling, he slammed into the vault door, pounding on it with all his might.
"Someone's here! Open the goddamn door, you idiots!" Alexandria punched and kicked the door, but it didn't budge.
"It's quite a shame," Blanc said, stepping forward. "Your vanity bought you these walls of safety."
Blanc moved with the speed of a striking spark. In an instant, he ruptured behind Alexandria. At some point, he had drawn the syringe of truth serum and punctured the noble's neck.
He wished it had been that simple.
The man erupted with strength Blanc had never seen before, blasting him backward with a single palm strike. Blanc stumbled, narrowly avoiding another blow.
And then it dawned on him: Alexandria wasn't the fool he used to be.
Internally, Blanc sighed.
Here we go again.