Falling.
Not down, but through. Through layers of broken space where direction had no meaning. Rhys tried to scream but reality stretched his voice into silence. The Wolf's shadows dispersed like smoke, their connection growing thin and distant.
Then impact.
---
SYSTEM REBOOT
Scanning...
Scanning...
Error: No Response
Error: Network Not Found
Error: Status Unavailable
---
Rhys gasped awake on cold steel. The harsh lights above felt like mockery - illuminating everything he'd lost. His fusion marks had faded to pale scars, dead lines on useless flesh. Even his pathetic capacity of three felt like a distant dream now.
"Welcome to the Obsidian Vault," a voice announced through hidden speakers. The words barely registered through the fog of emptiness consuming his thoughts.
A warden approached, tablet in hand. "Prisoner 3479. Fusion capacity violation. Classification: F-Tier, standard containment block." He might as well have been reading a shopping list. "Your father's influence got you placed here instead of with the other fusion violators."
The tablet displayed his profile - a lifetime reduced to cold statistics:
---
PRISONER: 3479
CLASSIFICATION: F-TIER
CRIMINAL ANALYSIS:
- Initial Capacity Rating: 3
- Nature of Violation: System Breach
- Threat Level: Minimal
- Security Risk: Standard
Note: Placement influenced by Hunter Fletcher's recommendation
Special Note: Monitor for unusual phenomena
---
Three. The number haunted him. Three, when others started at six, seven, ten. He'd been cursed from the beginning, hadn't he? A joke of a Hunter who should have accepted his limitations. Instead, he'd reached for something impossible and dragged everyone down with him.
Maya. Marina. Both gone, probably in higher security blocks where they belonged. Real fusion users with real power. Not like him - just a weak fool who'd somehow broken rules he shouldn't have been able to touch.
The F-Block cell they put him in was simple steel and smart-glass. No fusion dampeners or reality anchors needed. Why waste advanced containment on someone with barely enough capacity to light a fusion mark?
"Fresh meat," a scarred giant called from across the corridor. "Hey, fusion boy. Heard you were some kind of special case."
Rhys turned to face the wall. He didn't belong with these killers and crime lords, but he didn't belong with the fusion criminals either. He didn't belong anywhere.
Days blurred together. The routine of meals and yard time felt like a cruel parody of life. Other inmates traded stories of their crimes - murders, terrorist attacks, criminal empires. Their voices echoed through F-Block, each one a reminder of what real strength looked like. What was his story? I broke something I was too weak to understand?
At night, the darkness pressed closer. His reflection in the smart-glass barrier showed everything he'd lost - the confident young Hunter replaced by a hollow-eyed ghost. The Wolf's distant howls felt more like mockery now, echoes of power he should never have touched.
Through his window, he could see the higher blocks where real threats were contained. B-Tier inmates with their power dampeners. A-Tier's reality-warping fields. S-Tier, where the true monsters lived behind dimensional barriers. And here he sat in F-Block, not even worth the energy to properly contain.
On the third night, lying on his hard bunk, his thoughts spiraled deeper into darkness. The height of his window taunted him. Seven floors up. A quick solution to a meaningless existence. They'd probably mark it down as just another weak prisoner who couldn't handle the Vault. Just another failure, like everything else in his life.
The howl came again, piercing his dark contemplation.
"Shut up!" He slammed his fist against the wall, splitting skin. "Just let me be nothing!"
Blood trickled down his knuckles. Red droplets fell to the floor, and for a moment, he stared at them with empty fascination. Such a simple thing - not fusion, not power, just... life.
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. Small at first, then growing. The kind of laugh that makes others uncomfortable. Several inmates shifted in their cells, moving away from their barriers.
"Something funny, fusion boy?" Vale called out, but there was unease in his voice now.
Rhys pressed his bloodied hand against the cold wall, leaving a smear. His reflection in the smart-glass barrier showed a stranger's face - hollow-eyed, smiling without joy. Three days, and the Vault had already stripped away everything he thought he was.
"You know what's funny?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "They put me here because they think I'm weak. Because a capacity of three means I'm nothing." Another laugh escaped him. "But they're so focused on their numbers, their tiers, their precious system..."
The distant howl came again, but this time Rhys didn't react. He didn't need to. Something was changing inside him - not fusion, not power, but understanding.
In the darkness of his cell, his reflection's smile widened. If they wanted to treat him like nothing, he'd show them what nothing could do.
The lights flickered, and for just a moment, his eyes in the glass seemed to glow - not with fusion energy, but with something far more dangerous.
Purpose.