Chapter 58: Fractures and Flames
The bed creaked as Little 9 rose, his breath ragged. The room was quiet, too quiet—until his footsteps echoed down the hallway and into the Master's chamber.
The Master turned from his desk, just in time to see the Shrouded One step inside. No mask. No hesitation. Only fury in his blood-red gaze.
"You lied to me," Little 9 said, voice low, trembling with restrained rage. "You killed my parents."
The Master blinked, feigning innocence. "What nonsense are you—"
A bolt of raw, violet energy flared from Little 9's hand and shot forward. The Master barely moved, yet the attack veered to the side, exploding into a nearby wall. Shards of stone scattered across the room.
"You will pay," Little 9 growled.
The Master sighed. "So it's come to this."
Their clash was brutal but brief. Little 9 threw everything he had—slicing wind, burning heat, pure fury made tangible. But the Master, calm and infuriatingly unshaken, absorbed it all. With a flick of his wrist, he sent Little 9 crashing into a pillar. Blood trickled from the boy's lip, but he pushed himself up, still defiant.
"You can break my body, but not my will," he spat. "I will avenge them."
The sound of fighting drew footsteps. Percy and Little 7 burst in, weapons at the ready, only to find the room cracked, walls scorched—and their brother bruised and livid.
"What's going on?" Little 7 asked, stunned.
"He killed them!" Little 9 shouted. "My parents! He murdered them and took me!"
"What?" Percy stepped back, pale.
"He's been lying to us! Manipulating us!" Little 9 turned to them, desperate. "Don't you ever wonder why we don't remember our lives before him? You need to look into your pasts. Maybe he stole you too."
The brothers looked between him and the Master, disbelief battling dawning dread.
"I'm done being your puppet," Little 9 snarled. "The next time I set foot here, it'll be to destroy everything you value."
And with that, he stormed out, his steps echoing with finality.
---
The wind bit at his skin as he trudged down the slope, away from the mansion that had once been his home. The stars above blurred through the tears that slipped down his cheeks, unwanted but unstoppable. He wiped at them angrily.
The Master had raised him. Trained him. Taught him to fight and survive.
But it had all been a lie.
There was no comfort now—no home, no family. The girls were right. Were it not for them, he would have never uncovered the truth. He would still be living a lie.
He reached the edge of the forest near the village, where a modest home stood—one he had built for solitude between missions. He pushed open the door and slumped inside.
Anger flared again, fierce and wild, but this time it came with cold calculation.
The Master was stronger. Far stronger.
Revenge wouldn't come from reckless rage.
It would come from patience.
---
Back in the mansion, the Master stood before the tall mirror in his private chamber. The surface shimmered, rippled—and then the shadow appeared.
A figure cloaked in darkness, its form undefined, as if woven from the void itself.
"He's gone rogue," the Master said, bowing slightly. "Little 9 has begun to remember. He's unstable."
The figure didn't move. Its voice was a hiss in the air, a pressure in the lungs. "That is your failure."
"I can bring him back under control," the Master insisted.
"If you cannot," the figure replied, "then you will be the one to suffer. Do not forget our agreement. His power belongs to us."
And just like that, the figure vanished.
The mirror returned to its normal state, showing only the Master's reflection—older now, tired, and seething.
He had no allies. He couldn't go to the village. Not yet. Not with the girls involved.
But perhaps… a new lie would suffice.
---
Three days passed.
Little 9 sat on a stump near the edge of the woods, feeding a small fire as he planned. The girls had returned to their lives, but he stayed hidden. Watching. Thinking.
Then his stone hummed.
A call.
The Master.
He hesitated—but answered.
"I owe you the truth," the Master's voice came through, soft and weary.
"I already know it."
"No," the Master said. "You think you do. But I never killed your parents. They were murdered by a monster. A terrible beast that had come for your power. I fought it off. I saved you, Little 9. I took you in after that."
Little 9 clenched his jaw. The lie was so practiced, so fluid.
And yet, he didn't interrupt.
"You were broken, scared. I never told you because I didn't want you to live with that pain."
"No," Little 9 said quietly. "You just didn't want me to question you."
"Come back," the Master urged. "Let me show you what I've hidden. Let me explain."
Little 9 stared into the fire, expression unreadable.
"I'll come," he said at last. "I want to hear it all."
But as the stone dimmed, he whispered into the silence:
"You took my parents from me. Now I'll take what you love most."
His eyes glinted crimson in the firelight.
The game had changed.
And Little 9 no longer played by the Master's rules.