The cell was a small, cold chamber deep within Stronghold's most secure prison, designed to hold even the most powerful of benders. Rage sat in the dim light, his head lowered, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. His wrists were shackled in heavy restraints, engraved with runes that dampened his powers, leaving him physically and mentally drained. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional clank of the chains as he shifted in his seat.For the first time in a long time, Rage felt... defeated.He replayed the events in his mind, the fight with Benji, the way he had been outmatched and subdued. Elena's voice still echoed in his head, her probing, invasive powers uncovering parts of him he had long buried. Worse still, he had failed in his mission. He had gotten so close to the Nexus—so close to the power he needed to finally free himself from the shadows of his past. But it had slipped through his fingers, leaving him trapped here in this cell, nothing but a broken tool for the Syndicate.Suddenly, the room darkened further, as though the very air had grown thick with an unseen presence. Rage's senses, dulled as they were, instinctively tensed. He knew what this meant.A figure materialized in the shadows, stepping into the faint light with an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. The Messenger. His long, dark cloak billowed silently, though there was no wind. His face was obscured by the deep hood he wore, only the faint glint of his eyes visible, piercing through the darkness."Rage," the Messenger's voice was cold, almost mechanical. There was no emotion, no inflection—just a quiet, calculated menace. "You failed."Rage's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the Messenger. He had dealt with the Syndicate's emissaries before, but none of them unnerved him like this one. The Messenger always appeared out of nowhere, with a voice that seemed to echo through every shadow, every dark corner of the room. He represented the will of the Syndicate's higher-ups—figures whose power and influence extended far beyond anything Rage had ever fully understood."I don't need you to remind me," Rage spat, though his voice lacked its usual fire. The words came out flat, resigned.The Messenger's eyes glowed faintly from beneath his hood, and though his face remained hidden, Rage could feel the weight of his stare. "The higher-ups are... displeased."Rage said nothing, his fists tightening in their restraints. He had expected this. He knew what failure meant in the eyes of the Syndicate. There would be no mercy, no understanding. He had botched the mission, and now he would pay the price."The Nexus," the Messenger continued, his voice a chilling whisper, "was within your reach. The power you sought—our power—was almost yours. And yet, here you are, a prisoner. Beaten. Shackled."Rage clenched his teeth, fury bubbling just beneath the surface, but it was different now. It wasn't the explosive, all-consuming rage that had defined him for so long. This was something darker, quieter—self-loathing."I got close," Rage muttered, his voice barely audible. "I almost had it.""Almost," the Messenger echoed, a slight emphasis on the word. "But 'almost' means nothing to us. You failed. And now the Syndicate's plans have been compromised because of your inadequacy."Rage shifted in his seat, frustration mounting, but there was nothing he could do. The shackles that bound him were unbreakable, the cell impenetrable. He was powerless, and he hated it.The Messenger moved closer, his presence casting a long, dark shadow over Rage. "You were given everything, Rage. Resources, training, power. And still, you allowed yourself to be defeated by Benji, a relic of a bygone era. It is... pathetic."Rage's jaw tightened, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and shame. He wanted to lash out, to fight back against the condescending voice, but he knew it would do no good. The Messenger was right. He had failed, and now the Syndicate would strip him of whatever little respect he had earned."What happens now?" Rage asked bitterly, his voice hollow.The Messenger stood still for a moment, as though considering the question. "You will remain here, a prisoner of Stronghold, while the Syndicate reevaluates your usefulness." His voice was devoid of emotion, clinical in its delivery. "If they decide you are no longer of value, you know what happens."Rage's stomach twisted. He knew exactly what that meant. The Syndicate did not tolerate loose ends, and they certainly did not tolerate failures. If they deemed him useless, they would erase him—like they had done to so many before him.The Messenger continued, his tone sharp. "Your life is no longer in your hands, Rage. Your fate is now in the hands of those you serve. And as of now, you have very little worth left to them."The words were like daggers, each one piercing deeper into Rage's soul. For so long, he had fought to prove himself—to rise above the past that had haunted him, to gain the power that would finally free him from the chains of his former life. But now, it seemed, those chains had tightened around him once again."And the Syndicate?" Rage asked, his voice a low growl. "What do they plan to do now?""The Syndicate's plans remain in motion," the Messenger replied coldly. "The tournament is still on course, and the Nexus remains a target. The loss of one agent—one failure—does not derail everything."Rage glared up at him, his anger flaring once more. "I'm not just some disposable asset."The Messenger's eyes glinted from beneath his hood, and for the first time, there was a trace of something resembling amusement in his voice. "Oh, Rage... to the Syndicate, we are all disposable."With that, the Messenger's form began to blur, the shadows in the room swirling around him like smoke. "The higher-ups will decide your fate soon enough," he said, his voice fading as he dissolved into the darkness. "But until then, I suggest you reflect on your failures. Perhaps it will serve you in whatever future the Syndicate allows you to have."And then he was gone, leaving Rage alone in the cold, empty cell. The silence returned, heavier than before, pressing down on him like the weight of the entire world. Rage sat there, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a mix of rage, fear, and shame.For the first time in his life, Rage felt truly powerless.The Messenger's words echoed in his mind. He was nothing more than a tool to the Syndicate, disposable, replaceable. His failure had marked him, and now his future—if he had one at all—was in the hands of people who viewed him as nothing more than a means to an end.Rage stared at the cold, stone floor, his fists tightening once more. He had to get out. He had to prove them wrong.