The next morning, when James and Violet awoke, Michael was already active in the common area of his base. Three meticulously arranged plates rested on a polished round table, complete with proper cutlery and cloth napkins. The aroma of freshly prepared food filled the air, a rare luxury in the Undercity. The siblings stared at him in surprise, unused to such civility in their harsh world.
"Good morning," Michael greeted them with a slight bow. "I've prepared breakfast. Please, join me." His voice carried its usual calm, but with a warmth that seemed at odds with his fearsome reputation.
"Thank you," they said simultaneously as they took their seats, exchanging confused glances.
As they reached for their utensils, Michael raised his hand gently. "If you wouldn't mind, I prefer to say a prayer before meals. A habit from my childhood." He smiled apologetically. "You're welcome to join me, or simply wait a moment."
The siblings nodded, somewhat bemused.
Michael bowed his head, his voice becoming softer as he spoke. "Father Lord, we thank you for this food in a place where sustenance is scarce. Bless it to nourish our bodies, strengthen our resolve, and guide our purpose. Amen."
They began eating in stunned silence, both realizing that the notorious Crimson Angel possessed manners and gentleness they hadn't expected.
"This is surprisingly good," Violet said, breaking the silence. She leaned back in her chair, studying Michael with newfound curiosity. "Most people down here can barely manage nutrient paste, yet you're cooking like someone from the Upper Levels." She twirled her fork with casual precision. "Makes me wonder what else we don't know about the infamous Crimson Angel."
James nodded in agreement. "So, Mike, what about you? What's your story? The real one—not the propaganda Steel's people spread."
Michael dabbed his mouth with a napkin before responding. "I appreciate your directness. I believe honesty builds trust between allies." He set his utensils down carefully. "I was raised in an orphanage in the Uppercity. When resources grew scarce, the administrators began selling children to the highest bidders. Unfortunately, my buyers decided I wasn't worth keeping—just trash to be discarded."
He continued with practiced composure. "I ended up here, eventually joined the Black Feathers. My master trained me extensively, then betrayed us all, leaving us to die when it served his purposes." A shadow crossed his face momentarily. "But fate had other plans. I was saved by my grandfather, the vigilante known as Blue Flash. Before his passing, he bequeathed me his biotech eyes and his katana. My wings originated from the very adversary who took my grandfather's life, though they've transformed since then—now they manifest as feathers rather than the razor-sharp blades they once were."
"You killed your master, didn't you?" Violet asked, her tone dropping to a dangerous timbre. She leaned forward, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "I recognize that look. The satisfaction of balancing scales that were tipped against you for too long."
Michael met her gaze steadily. "Yes. Justice was long overdue."
"Respect," Violet replied with a slight nod. She casually disassembled one of her guns on the table without looking at it, her fingers moving with practiced precision. "Not many have the stomach to execute vengeance properly. Most people hesitate when the moment comes." She reassembled the weapon in seconds. "Hesitation gets you killed down here."
James studied Michael's crimson eyes. "I saw footage of Blue Flash once. His katana and eyes were blue, not crimson like yours."
"An astute observation," Michael replied. "The Shimobe Blade changes color when it accepts a new master. As for the eyes, I modified the implants to match my katana's hue. A matter of aesthetic preference, if you will." He smiled slightly. "Even warriors can appreciate symmetry."
Violet spun one of her plasma guns around her finger before holstering it. "That sword of yours—it moves like it has a mind of its own. I've never seen tech that responsive, not even in our father's highest security labs." Her eyes narrowed with professional interest. "How does it float and respond so perfectly? Some kind of advanced neural link?"
"Your assessment isn't far off," Michael answered. "The Shimobe Blade possesses its own consciousness—a soul, if you will. It forms a unique bond with its wielder, responding to thoughts rather than verbal commands. I merely think of what I need, and it obeys like a loyal companion."
"What does Shimobe mean?" Violet pressed, running a hand through her hair. "Sounds like Uppercity language."
"Perceptive," Michael inclined his head appreciatively. "Shimobe is a Japanese word meaning 'Servant.' A language spoken in some parts of the uppercity"
As they finished their meal, Michael stood and collected their plates with practiced grace. "I suggest you both rest for approximately thirty minutes to allow for proper digestion. Afterward, we'll commence training." His expression grew more serious. "Steel's tower houses two guards besides himself. I couldn't discern their identities clearly during my reconnaissance, but I sensed they possess power far exceeding any opponent I've faced previously. We must prepare accordingly."
Thirty minutes later, they assembled in the training room. Michael had designed specialized regimens for each of them.
Violet's training involved rapid-fire accuracy exercises with her plasma guns while simultaneously evading sharp projectiles launched at her from unpredictable angles at incredible speeds.
"Is this supposed to be challenging?" she taunted as she executed a perfect backward flip, unleashing a barrage of perfectly aimed shots mid-rotation. The needles designed to strike her shattered in mid-air. "My father had me doing more difficult drills when I was twelve."
Michael adjusted the system settings, increasing the difficulty. "I admire your confidence, but arrogance creates blind spots. Let's see how you handle this."
The speed and quantity of projectiles doubled instantly. Violet's expression shifted from casual smugness to intense focus as she pushed her abilities further, her movements becoming a blur of precision and deadly grace.
"Now we're talking," she said through gritted teeth, a fierce smile spreading across her face. "Nothing worth doing should ever feel easy."
For James, training consisted of strength conditioning, speed enhancement, and precision striking. Heavy metal spheres flew toward him at varying velocities; he needed to either evade or deflect them with his gauntlets—failure resulting in punishing impacts.
After a week of increasingly demanding training sessions, both siblings had noticeably improved. Michael then took time to personally upgrade James's biotech gauntlets and Violet's guns and energy orbs, working tirelessly through the night to enhance their capabilities.
"These modifications should amplify your natural abilities by approximately thirty percent," Michael explained as he presented them with their upgraded equipment. "I've also incorporated failsafes to prevent overloading your biological systems."
Violet examined her enhanced weapons with expert eyes, testing their weight and balance. "You've reconfigured the plasma containment chamber," she observed, opening a panel no one else would have noticed. "And the energy distribution matrix has been completely redesigned." She looked up at Michael, genuine appreciation in her expression. "This isn't just an upgrade—it's a complete reinvention. Where did you learn tech design at this level?"
"Necessity breeds innovation," Michael replied simply. "When one's survival depends on technological superiority, one learns quickly."
"Impressive," Violet acknowledged, holstering her weapons with a satisfied smile. "These will definitely leave an impression on Steel's forces—the kind that doesn't wash off."
"You've both grown significantly stronger," Michael said, standing tall and proper. "Tomorrow morning, we'll depart for Steel's tower. The journey to the chasm of the Undercity is treacherous, so we'll proceed on foot to avoid detection. I suggest we retire early tonight."
The following morning, Michael gently woke them at 4:00 AM. He had already prepared a light, energizing breakfast and laid out additional supplies for their journey.
"I took the liberty of preparing travel rations and medical supplies," he said, gesturing to three perfectly packed utility belts. "The path ahead is uncertain, but I believe we're as prepared as possible."
They suited up in silence, each focused on the dangerous mission ahead. As they prepared to leave the safety of Michael's base, Violet checked her weapons one final time.
"Just so we're clear," she said, her voice low and deadly, "once we reach Steel's tower, there's no holding back. I don't care how many of his minions get in our way—they chose their side." She looked directly at Michael, her eyes cold and determined. "When it comes to monsters like Steel, mercy is just another word for suicide. Are we on the same page?"
Michael nodded solemnly. "When necessary, we'll do what must be done. But remember, many in the Undercity serve Steel out of fear rather than loyalty. Discernment will be as important as strength."
With final preparations complete, they stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness of the Undercity, beginning their journey toward the chasm.
***
Deep within the 200-meter tower at the heart of the chasm, Steel sat motionless on his throne. His eyes suddenly opened, glowing a deep, bloody red that illuminated the darkness around him.
"Michael Florescent," he whispered to the empty chamber, his voice resonating with unnatural power. "I see you. Your every move, your every breath—nothing escapes my notice."
He rose from his throne, towering and inhuman. "Let's see if you can truly accomplish your goal of killing me and changing the Undercity." A cruel smile spread across his face. "For my amusement, I've dispatched some Steel Soldiers to test how strong you and your new team have become, whether you can truly climb my tower and reach me—Steel, the leader of—no, the god of the Undercity, who will soon become the god of the steel earth."
His laughter echoed throughout the tower, a sound devoid of humanity or mercy.