News spread rapidly across the globe: Rimore had fallen, and the nation's army had pledged its loyalty to Armin. The sudden shift in power shocked the international community, prompting the world's leaders to convene at a secret location to discuss the implications of Armin's rise.
The atmosphere in the room was tense, shadows flickering against the walls as the leaders sat in hushed conversation. One of them, a stern-faced man with graying hair, broke the silence. "Who is this Armin, really? He assassinated Isaya's newly appointed prime minister and somehow managed to seize control of the entire nation, including its military. That doesn't happen without planning—or blood."
A second leader, leaning forward with a skeptical look, added, "I'm more concerned about how the people of Isaya accepted him. There hasn't been a single significant uprising since his takeover. No protests. No resistance. Just… silence."
A third voice, sharp and cynical, spoke next. "Isaya was already rotting from within. The politicians had turned the government into a corrupt mess. Armin probably promised to purge them all—and from what we've seen, he followed through."
A fourth leader shook his head. "Or maybe he didn't just promise change. Maybe he did something that terrified them into submission. Fear can unify a broken people faster than hope ever could."
Another leader, more cautious than the rest, raised a hand to settle the room. "Let's not jump to conclusions. We don't have the full picture yet. What we know is fragmented at best—leaks, rumors, intercepted communications. Until we get solid intel, speculation will only mislead us."
The room quieted, the weight of uncertainty settling heavily on them. No one knew for certain whether Armin's rise was driven by charisma, brutality, ideology, or sheer opportunism. What they did know was that a new player had entered the global stage—one who had moved swiftly, decisively, and without remorse.
Despite their doubts and disagreements, one thing was clear: Armin was no ordinary rebel or usurper. He had done what few others could—toppled a sitting government and won over its military without plunging the nation into visible chaos. Whether through cunning strategy, manipulation, or brute force, he now held the reins of power in Isaya.
As the leaders continued their discussion behind closed doors, the world outside watched and waited. Would Armin stop at Isaya's borders, or was this just the beginning of something far more ambitious?
Armin stood at the center of the dimly lit war chamber, his gaze fixed on the strategic map spread across the table. "The army is in our hands now," he said, voice calm but resolute. "Before we move on to the second phase of our plan, we must awaken Sheath's power."
Kliner, always the analyst, nodded gravely. "He's the most crucial part of this. Without him, the entire plan could collapse."
Maverick crossed his arms, his expression tight with frustration. "But he's shown no signs of awakening. No matter what we try, it's like something inside him is still locked away."
Armin turned to him without hesitation. "Bring him to me. I'll handle it from here."
Maverick paused for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod. "Alright. I'll bring him."
Without another word, Maverick left the room, the door hissing shut behind him. A heavy silence fell.
Kliner broke it with a wary glance. "You're planning to torment him again, aren't you? You know Maverick won't be on board with that. He's grown attached."
Armin's gaze hardened, but he didn't flinch. "This is our only option. If awakening his power through conventional means fails, we'll have no choice but to force him to reproduce. His bloodline is too valuable to waste."
Kliner grimaced. "He's still just a boy, Armin. There has to be another way."
Armin looked away, his expression unreadable. "We don't have time for alternatives. The world is already shifting. If we don't act now, we'll lose our window."
A tense silence followed, the weight of their decisions pressing on them like a storm cloud. Outside, the wind howled against the compound walls. Inside, war was being waged not on the battlefield, but in the hearts of those who would decide the fate of others.
Maverick and Sheath walked in silence through the fading evening light, their footsteps echoing softly on the stone pathway that led back to the central building. The camp around them was quiet, with only the occasional murmur of soldiers preparing for the next day. But inside Sheath, a storm was building.
His breath was shallow. Each step toward the command building made his heart beat faster. Something about Armin—the coldness in his voice, the shadows in his eyes—unsettled him deeply. He didn't understand what Armin wanted, only that it filled him with dread.
As they reached the entrance, Maverick gave him a glance. Not quite sympathy. Not quite indifference. Just silence.
Sheath stepped inside, the steel doors closing behind him with a heavy thud that made him flinch. The hallway was dimly lit, each footstep echoing like a warning. Before he could steady his nerves, Armin emerged from the darkness ahead.
"Follow me," Armin said, his tone devoid of warmth.
"O-okay… sir," Sheath stammered, barely above a whisper.
Armin didn't wait for a response. He turned and began walking. Sheath followed, hesitantly, his eyes darting from the cold walls to the back of the man he feared.
They descended into the lower levels of the building, until they reached a thick, reinforced door. Armin unlocked it and motioned Sheath inside. The room was sterile, clinical—like a lab or an interrogation chamber. Cold lights buzzed overhead, and the air smelled faintly of metal and antiseptic.
"I'm not going to misuse your powers," Armin said, finally breaking the silence. "I just need them—to destroy that thing. And when it's done, I'll give you your freedom."
Sheath's brow furrowed. "Wha-what are you talking about, sir?"
Armin stepped closer, his eyes sharp and intense. "The power inside you. Don't you feel it? Haven't you ever had the desire to use it? To be free? To do whatever you want without anyone stopping you?"
Sheath shook his head quickly. "I—I don't feel anything. I don't desire anything… sir."
Armin's eyes narrowed.
"Then I'll make you feel it."
Before Sheath could react, Armin's boot drove hard into his abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. The force sent him sprawling to the floor, gasping and coughing.
"Get up," Armin growled, and without pause, he delivered another brutal kick—this time to Sheath's face. Pain exploded behind his eyes as blood spilled from his nose.
Armin grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upright.
"Your back's broken, right?" he said coldly.
Sheath's eyes widened, his mouth opening in protest—but Armin didn't wait. He drove his boot into Sheath's lower back with calculated force. A sickening crack echoed through the chamber as Sheath's body slammed against the wall and crumpled to the ground.
Lying in agony, Sheath cried out, "Please… no! What—what did I do to you?!"
Armin knelt beside him, his face calm, almost clinical. He pulled a short blade from his belt—razor-sharp and gleaming under the sterile lights.
"Why do the powerless need fingers?" he said coldly.
"No—please!" Sheath screamed, thrashing weakly.
Armin didn't stop.
With a swift motion, he sliced off two of Sheath's fingers. The scream that followed was raw, animal, a sound of agony and helplessness.
Blood pooled beneath them.
Still, Armin wasn't finished. He shifted lower, gripping Sheath's leg tightly.
"No—NO! Stop!" Sheath howled.
Another slash—and Sheath's left foot was gone.
The pain was beyond anything he'd imagined, his mind reeling, vision flickering in and out as his body trembled and convulsed.
"You want to know why I'm doing this?" Armin said, almost gently. "Because you need to feel what the soldiers felt. The ones who died for you. You stood there, useless, while they were torn apart protecting someone who doesn't even know what he is."
Tears mixed with blood on Sheath's face. He couldn't respond—he could barely breathe.
Armin stood and continued his torture, for four more hours.
He beat him, broke bones, forced his body to the edge of death and dragged it back. Every strike was calculated, every cut deliberate. It wasn't madness. It was a ritual. A method.
A way to force the power inside Sheath to rise.
But it didn't.
When Armin was finally finished, he looked down at the mangled boy, breathing in ragged, shallow gasps. His clothes were torn, his skin bruised and bloodied, his limbs barely intact.
"You still haven't awakened," Armin muttered. "Then you're either the key… or a failure."
He turned and left without another word.
Some time later, the doors to the central building creaked open.
Soldiers stationed nearby froze at the sight.
There, lying in a broken heap at the building's entrance, was Sheath—barely alive, his body twisted and covered in blood. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. His fingers mangled. His foot missing. But somehow, he was still breathing.
A low gasp rippled through the camp.
Lira was the first to run to him, followed by Kale and Isame. They dropped to their knees, frantically trying to stop the bleeding.
"Oh my god," Lira whispered, tears filling her eyes. "What… what did they do to you?"
Isame's face turned pale with horror. "Armin… that bastard."
Kale didn't speak. His hands trembled as he pressed cloth against the worst wounds, trying not to panic.
Around them, a small crowd gathered in silence, the reality of what had been done sinking into their hearts like a stone. The truth was clear: something dark had taken root in the heart of their leadership. And Sheath—whether they understood his power or not—was its first victim.
The infirmary was quiet—eerily so.
The sharp scent of antiseptic hung in the air, masking the stronger, darker smell of blood. Sheath lay motionless on the bed, his body wrapped in bandages from head to toe. What remained of his left foot was covered, the wound sealed, though it had taken hours. Two fingers on his right hand were gone, and his back was braced tightly in place. His face was bruised and swollen, but the worst damage was deeper, where no medicine could reach.
Lira sat beside him, eyes puffy from crying. Her fingers gently brushed a damp cloth across his brow. Every few seconds, her gaze flicked toward the monitor tracking his vitals, as though afraid he might suddenly flatline.
Isame paced behind her, his fists clenched tightly. "How the hell did this happen? How did no one stop it?"
"Because no one can stop Armin," Kale said from the corner, his voice low and bitter. He sat with his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. "And now we know what he's capable of."
Lira looked at him sharply. "He mutilated a kid. A kid, Kale. And we all stood there, clueless. What if he calls one of us next?"
Isame stopped pacing. "This wasn't just punishment. This was personal. He wanted to break Sheath."
"He was trying to awaken something," Kale said, lifting his eyes. "Don't you remember what he said? 'Your powers… your desire…' This was a trigger. A cruel one."
Lira swallowed. "Then he's more dangerous than we thought."
The room went quiet again.
The only sound was the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor. In the bed, Sheath stirred slightly. His lips parted, a soft, ragged breath escaping. His face twitched. Then stilled.
"Was that—did he just move?" Isame stepped closer.
Lira leaned in. "Sheath?" she whispered, placing a hand on his arm. "Can you hear me?"
No answer.
But in Sheath's mind, something was shifting.
He wasn't awake. Not fully. He floated in darkness, weightless and silent. But the darkness wasn't empty. It pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat. In that endless void, pain was a distant memory, replaced by something colder. Sharper.
You're not nothing, a voice whispered.
It didn't sound like Armin. Or Lira. Or anyone he knew.
You're what they fear. They try to chain you because they know what you are.
Then silence again. But Sheath felt it—like something inside him had been stirred from a long sleep. It wasn't rage. Not yet. But it was close.
Back in the room, Lira felt his fingers twitch under her palm.
"Sheath?" she whispered again.
His eyes opened slowly—just barely.
Lira gasped. "He's awake!"
Kale and Isame rushed over. Isame knelt beside the bed, his voice gentle. "Hey… it's us. You're safe now."
Sheath's lips parted, but no sound came out.
Lira squeezed his hand gently. "Don't try to speak. You're hurt, but you'll be okay. We're here."
Sheath blinked slowly, as if trying to process the faces around him. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye—but whether from pain or relief, none of them could tell.
"He's conscious," Kale said. "That's a good sign, right?"
"It means he made it through," Lira said quietly. "But what did Armin really do to him?"
Isame looked down at Sheath's battered form, guilt and fury fighting for space on his face. "We were trained to follow orders. To believe in our leaders. But if this is the future Armin's building... we have to decide whether we're part of it."
Kale nodded grimly. "Or if we're going to stand against it."
Lira looked down at Sheath. "He can't stand yet. So we'll stand for him."
Isame turned toward the door. "We need to get the others. Everyone who still has a conscience. If Armin thinks no one will notice or care what he did here—he's wrong."
As Isame left, Kale rose and followed.
Lira stayed behind, brushing a lock of damp hair from Sheath's forehead. "You're stronger than he thinks," she whispered. "He didn't break you. He just lit the fire."
She looked into Sheath's dim, pain-filled eyes and smiled faintly.
"You're not alone anymore."
In a dimly lit chamber beneath a foreign capital, several world leaders gathered in secret. The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy silence hanging between them as they reviewed the latest reports from Rimore.
One of them finally spoke. "The best way to understand what Armin is planning… is to plant spies within his army."
A second leader leaned forward. "Spies? How would we even manage that? His inner circle is tight. His soldiers are loyal—terrified, even."
The first leader nodded. "It won't be easy. But if we succeed, we can uncover his true intentions… and act before it's too late."
A third leader murmured, "If we wait too long, it might already be too late."
Thousands of miles away, in the heart of Rimore's newly claimed capital, Armin stood at the highest level of the central building. Tall windows framed the city, which now moved to his rhythm—rebuilt by force and held together by fear and false hope.
He turned to face Maverick and Kliner, who stood silently beside him.
"The world leaders," Armin began, "are likely already planning to send spies into our ranks."
Maverick's brow furrowed. "Do you think they suspect your true goal?"
"They do," Armin replied calmly. "And even if they don't yet, they will soon. The people think I came to change this country. To rebuild it. To lead it into a new era."
He let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"But I didn't come to fix anything. I didn't come to bring hope."
Kliner stepped forward, cautious. "Then what are we doing here, Armin?"
"We are reshaping the world," Armin said, his tone hard. "From the ground up. I'm not here to patch up a broken system. I'm here to burn it down."
There was a brief silence before Maverick asked, "So… should we stop the spies? Eliminate them before they settle in?"
Kliner added, "Or let them operate, as long as the people remain on our side? Their support gives us power."
Armin's gaze drifted toward the window, eyes narrowing as he watched the city below.
"No," he said. "We will let them in."
Maverick raised an eyebrow. "You want them spying on us?"
"Let them come," Armin said coldly. "Let them dig, listen, report. It won't change anything. Their fear will grow faster than their understanding. And by the time they realize what we're really doing—it will already be done."
Kliner glanced at Maverick, concern flickering in his eyes. But neither argued.
Armin turned from the window, his voice quiet but resolute.
"They think they're watching me. But I'm watching them."
A few minutes passed before Rein finally stirred. His breath was shallow, and his vision blurry as the ceiling above came into focus. Pain pulsed through his side, reminding him of the chaos he'd just escaped.
Slowly turning his head, his eyes landed on Sheath—barely recognizable beneath the layers of bandages covering his body. Cuts and bruises painted what little skin remained visible. Rein's heart sank.
"Sheath… what happened to you?" Rein asked weakly, his voice dry and cracking. "You're covered in bandages."
Lira, sitting beside the bed with a bowl of water and a cloth, glanced at him with tired eyes. "He got beaten up. Badly. By Armin."
Rein's brows furrowed in confusion and disbelief. "What? Why would Armin do that? What did Sheath do?"
Lira shook her head. "We don't know. He didn't even say anything before he passed out. Whatever it was… it was brutal."
Kale, standing near the doorway, stepped forward with a calm but firm tone. "Rein, I recommend you don't move. You've been unconscious for hours. Your wound hasn't healed yet."
Rein winced slightly as he shifted. "Yeah… okay."
A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint sound of wind brushing against the windows. No one said it aloud, but all of them felt it—the world was growing darker, and Armin's actions were only the beginning.
After hours of intense deliberation, the world leaders came to a unanimous decision: brute force alone would not bring down the dark entity. They needed information—real, concrete intelligence about its purpose, its target, and its origin. To achieve that, they turned to a more subtle weapon: espionage.
Their best spies—highly trained operatives from around the globe—were handpicked and sent to infiltrate the ranks of the various military recruits and splinter armies that had begun to rise in response to the growing threat. These operatives were masters of disguise, fluent in multiple languages, and trained to blend in without a trace.
They entered the recruitment lines together under false identities, posing as ordinary soldiers eager to fight for humanity's survival. However, once inside, the group dispersed, each agent slipping quietly into different units to avoid raising any suspicion. Their mission was clear: gather intelligence, identify weaknesses, and find out anything they could about the entity—and anyone connected to it.
Among them was a particularly skilled operative named Ashen. Cold, calculating, and deeply committed to the mission, Ashen had been assigned to infiltrate the unit led by Sheath. On the surface, he presented himself as an eager, quiet recruit—nothing out of the ordinary. But behind his calm demeanor, he was constantly observing, noting Sheath's behavior, his injuries, and the strange tension that lingered around the group.
Ashen had been trained to work in silence, to build trust slowly while feeding critical information back to his superiors without detection. But even he could sense something deeper within Sheath's unit—something hidden just beneath the surface, possibly connected to the chaos that was unraveling across the world.
And so, with his orders in mind and suspicion sharpening his focus, Ashen became just another soldier in a war that was becoming more complex by the day.
The morning sun rose faintly over the camp, casting soft light across the tents and temporary structures. Inside the main tent, Sheath sat in a wheelchair, slowly eating his breakfast. Bandages wrapped around much of his torso, and a patch covered one eye—an injury that still throbbed with every movement.
As the others sat quietly around the table, the tent's flap opened with a sudden gust of wind. A new face stepped inside.
"Hey there, everyone," the man said with a friendly grin. "I'm Ashen, the new recruit."
Sheath looked up, squinting through his good eye. "Hi… can't really see you properly. Lost one of my eyes."
Ashen raised a brow, giving him a quick once-over. "Yeah… I can see that."
Kale turned from where he was cleaning gear and gave a half-wave. "Hey there, newbie. Welcome to the team."
"Nice to meet you," Ashen replied, still taking in the room, clearly sizing everyone up.
Isame, sitting near the entrance, scowled. "Why'd you come here? Couldn't they send you somewhere else?"
Ashen shrugged. "The officer assigned me to this unit. So… yeah, I go where I'm told."
Lira rolled her eyes. "Don't we get a say in who joins us anymore?"
Rein, leaning against the wall with his arm in a sling, sighed. "Whatever. Let him stay."
Ashen's eyes flicked over to Rein and Sheath, noting their injuries with a raised brow. "Damn, you two look like you've been through hell. Was that from the war?"
Before Sheath could speak, Kale quickly cut in. "Yeah, something like that."
Sheath blinked. "Huh?"
Kale leaned in and whispered, "Don't tell him anything. He's new—we don't know if we can trust him yet."
Sheath hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Right."
Ashen glanced around, clearly trying to act casual. "So, uh, where do I sleep?"
Isame smirked. "We all sleep on the same bed, dumbo."
Ashen looked confused. "Wait… seriously?"
"No," Lira said flatly. "He's messing with you. Grab an empty cot and make yourself comfortable."
Ashen chuckled awkwardly and headed toward the corner to drop his pack. As he settled in, the others exchanged subtle glances. He might have acted friendly, but something about him felt just a little too curious.
And in a world unraveling at the seams, trust wasn't something they handed out easily.