Mason had faced a lot of terrifying things in the past 24 hours—assassins, armed soldiers, the Astral of Death itself. But nothing quite prepared him for the absurdity of sprinting through endless hallways with a pack of mutant hyenas hot on his heels.
As he darted around another corner, dodging a stray piece of rubble, he couldn't help but think that somewhere, somehow, the universe was laughing at him.
Mason vaulted over a large chunk of debris, twisting just enough mid-air to keep Rachel steady on his back. His mind raced. He needed a plan—something that would take these animals down while keeping Rachel safe.
And he had to think fast. Victor could arrive any moment, and who knew how many soldiers were right behind him. His body still pulsed with weakness from using the Astral of Death to seal his chest wound.
As he rounded another corner, he skidded to a halt, spinning on his heel as he turned to face the pursuing beasts. Black flames flickered to life in his hands, the dark energy sparking with deadly intent.
He tightened his grip, his gaze fixed on the first of the creatures as it sprinted toward him, eyes gleaming with that unnatural hunger. Timing his strike perfectly, Mason aimed and brought his fist down in a brutal arc, connecting with the hyena's snout in a burst of dark flame.
The creature yelped, its body crashing to the ground, rolling as it skidded to a halt. For a moment, Mason felt a flicker of hope. Maybe that would buy him some time, maybe—
But then, he watched in horror as the hyena staggered back up, its injuries knitting together in a matter of seconds. The strike that should have shattered bone and left it incapacitated was barely enough to slow it down. His chest tightened as the realization dawned on him: not only was his output with the Astral of Death weaker than he'd anticipated, but these creatures could heal too—just like him.
These things have Astral power too.
The beasts' jagged, unnatural bodies, their speed, their resilience—it all fit. They were more than just ordinary animals; they were imbued with Astral abilities. And in his current state, depleted and weakened, he was severely outmatched.
A cold sweat broke out as he began to turn, ready to flee and rethink his strategy, but before he could even take a step, two more hyenas rounded the corner. Their eyes locked onto him, and without hesitation, they pounced, claws extended, teeth bared, ready to tear him apart.
As Mason ducked and weaved between snapping jaws and lashing claws, his mind raced with questions and the overwhelming realization that he was nearly out of options. But suddenly, a soft voice reached his ear, startling him.
Rachel: … What's going on?
Mason barely dodged another swipe from the nearest hyena, twisting to the side as the creature's claws narrowly missed his arm. His heart leaped for a different reason now as he glanced at Rachel, blushing slightly despite the chaos.
Mason: Oh, nothing much…
He dodged another lunge, using his shoulder to shove one of the hyenas off course. His sarcastic tone barely masked the strain in his voice as he threw a wild punch, putting as much power as he could muster into his arms.
Grabbing the nearest hyena, he swung it around and hurled it into the other two, buying them a few precious seconds. Rachel's eyes widened as the creatures stumbled, her gaze flicking between the monstrous beasts and the dark corridors around them.
Rachel: We're in the labyrinth?
Mason: Yeah, I figured that part out.
Rachel: No, no—you don't get it. This part of the facility should've been safe. It was meant for training, security, and storage. The labyrinth isn't heavily monitored, it's supposed to be hard to navigate deliberately.
Mason's foot slipped slightly as he dodged another attack, regaining his balance just in time to avoid a snapping jaw. He shot her a quick look, frowning.
Mason: What exactly do you mean?
Rachel's eyes darkened as she glanced at the creatures now recovering and stalking toward them again.
Rachel: Obsidian must have sent these things to track us down. They're not just chasing us randomly—they're following our scent. They don't need surveillance; they can just track us wherever we go. And if the soldiers follow them…
Mason's stomach twisted as he punched another creature square in the mouth, only to watch it heal instantly, its snarling grin reappearing as it prepared to lunge once more. He could already feel the exhaustion settling in his musclesr. And as two more hyenas lunged at him, he leaped into the air, narrowly avoiding their claws.
Mason: How can they heal like that? They're astral users right?
Rachel's voice was tense, but her mind was sharp, fitting the pieces together even in the midst of chaos.
Rachel: They're products of the Astral of Death, that's probably how they're healing.
Mason: So if they're using the Astral of Death's power… shouldn't I be able to do something about that?
Rachel shook her head, grimacing.
Rachel: The Astral of Death's soul is split. The power inside these creatures is under the control of the other part. Even I don't know where the other part is, but it's clearly under Obsidian control.
How convenient.
He barely managed to sidestep as one of the hyenas lunged, its jaws snapping inches from his shoulder. He retaliated with a quick punch, but his attacks barely slowed them down, and even when he landed a solid blow, they healed almost instantly.
Mason: So if these things heal with death energy like me, how am I supposed to kill them?
Rachel: Astral abilities only work when the mind, soul, and body are all intact. Destroy any one of those in a single blow, and the Astral can't function. The creature will die.
Mason let out a bitter laugh, glancing at her.
Mason: Easier said than done.
In my current state, I can't manage anything close to that kind of power.
The creatures were circling closer, recovering from their recent blows, their growls growing louder and more menacing. His options were dwindling by the second, and his weakened body was making every movement feel like a monumental effort.
Without any time left to strategize, Mason turned sharply on his heels, his grip on Rachel tightening as he sprinted down another corridor, the creatures hot on their trail. He called over his shoulder.
Mason: New plan. What's it gonna be?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mason sprinted through the labyrinth's endless corridors, the pounding of his own footsteps mingling with the echoing growls of the beasts behind him.
It was insane, utterly reckless.
Rachel's explanation of the plan—if you could even call it that—felt barely coherent in his mind. It sounded more like a gamble than any real strategy, a vague set of instructions that relied on faith rather than any kind of certainty. But he could hear Granny's words reverberating in his thoughts.
Trust.
He clenched his jaw, glancing over his shoulder as the creatures surged forward. Rachel was gone now, he had no idea what she planned to do or if she would even survive but. He had no choice. He would have to trust Rachel's plan, as insane as it seemed.
As he rounded one more winding corner, Mason's heart raced as he entered a vast, expansive room. Perfect. This was exactly what he needed. The creatures pursued him, barreling into the open space, their numbers swelling as more wolf-like beasts joined the hyenas. His escape through the labyrinth had drawn them together, forming a pack of snarling, bloodthirsty predators, each one hungry to rip him apart.
But as they filled the room, Mason simply smiled, extending his arms outward, his eyes narrowing as he took in their movements. They charged forward, teeth bared, but stopped just short of lunging, slowing to circle him instead. They moved with a strange caution, watching him, waiting for something.
Rachel was right.
These things, they're controlled by Obsidian, and Obsidian can't kill me, they just want me captured. So as long as I stay put, they won't do a thing huh.
The revelation emboldened him. If they were under orders to avoid killing him, he could afford to be a bit more reckless. Closing his eyes, Mason steadied his breath, reaching into the depths of his soul.
You've been awfully quiet lately.
The silence in his mind stretched, but then The Astral of Death's presence flickered, faint and strained, answering with a weary tone that echoed through Mason's consciousness.
Astral of Death: That stunt of yours—healing your wound—it drained us both.
Mason's brow furrowed, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he opened one eye.
Is that even possible? An Astral, dying of exhastion?
The Astral didn't respond, its silence pointed and absolute, as if the question itself were beneath consideration. Mason rolled his eyes, dismissing the lack of response, and focused on his goal.
Alright, fine, keep your secrets. But I need your help. Just tell me—what would it take to control a living being with the Astral of Death?
Another pause. The beasts continued circling him, their movements careful, calculating, as if they, too, sensed the silent exchange happening between Mason and the force within him. Then, with a scoff, The Astral of Death finally broke the silence.
Astral of Death: Even after everything, you think I'd teach you something like that? No. I refuse.
Mason's smile widened, his eyes still closed, the faintest hint of amusement dancing across his face.
That's all I needed to know.
A flicker of confusion pulsed through his mind, the sensation almost tangible as The Astral struggled to understand.
Astral of Death: …?
Mason opened his eyes, casting a glance at the creatures circling him, his confidence solidified.
I just needed confirmation. I don't need to know the exact technique—you've already told me enough to know that it's possible.
The Astral of Death fell silent once more, its presence withdrawing to the far corners of his mind, simmering with an almost begrudging respect. Mason exhaled, his attention turning back to the creatures that surrounded him, their hungry eyes fixed on his every move.
He had what he needed. With this knowledge, he could test his theory, take control of this situation—and these creatures.
Mason took a steadying breath and reached out, placing a hand on the nearest creature—a hulking wolf-like beast with muscles rippling beneath its dark, scarred hide. Closing his eyes, he let his consciousness sink inward, navigating through the flickering tendrils of energy that bound him to The Astral of Death.
He pushed deeper, honing in on where he sensed the creature's soul, a faint yet pulsing light surrounded by chaotic, tangled threads. This wasn't the same steady, ominous energy of his own Astral; it was twisted, like a shadow of the true power, its form barely holding itself together.
He couldn't waste time dismantling each creature's soul one by one, and even if he tried, his strength wouldn't hold out. But the mind? That could be a different story. He wasn't looking to dominate its will; this creature was already a slave to someone else's will. No, he only needed a suggestion, a small spark of thought to guide its primal instincts.
He concentrated, focusing his energy, and sent a single, clear thought rippling into the creature's consciousness.
A moment later, he felt a faint shift, like the slightest ripple in still water, and he opened his eyes, a smile forming as he turned his back to the creatures. The others immediately sensed his movement, their growls intensifying as they prepared to lunge. But before they could reach him, the wolf-like creature stepped forward, letting out a low snarl.
Protect.
In one fluid motion, it tore into the nearest hyena, its claws slicing through flesh with brutal efficiency, severing the creature's head in a single blow.
Mason watched in fascination, his chest heaving with exhaustion but a hint of pride swelling within him. Success. The wolf, now loyal to his subtle command, moved through the crowd of creatures, tearing them apart with savage intensity. He wasn't sure exactly how he'd managed to plant the thought, but it had worked. He felt his energy draining even more, his head swimming from the mental exertion, but the outcome made it worth it.
Using the precious seconds bought by the wolf's rampage, Mason turned and made his way toward the entryway. Behind him, the loyal beast continued to lash out, slaughtering the creatures that filled the room.
However, Just as he reached the doorway, a powerful crash echoed through the room.
Mason barely had time to react before a massive figure burst through the nearby wall, sending chunks of debris flying in every direction. The shockwave sent him sprawling backward, the force knocking him onto his back.
Standing before him was a monstrous figure, a creature straight out of mythology. It was shaped like a bull, but it stood upright, towering above him on two powerful legs, its muscular form radiating a brutal, imposing strength. Its eyes glowed an inky black, filled with a murderous rage, and each breath escaped in heavy, furious snorts that clouded the air like steam.
Mason's heart pounded as he scrambled to his feet, the realization sinking in that he was facing something far beyond the ordinary beasts he'd been dealing with.
Biting his lip, he muttered a curse under his breath, his gaze locked onto the bull-like monstrosity.
Surely this is too cruel, even for you fate.
With his last reserves of strength, Mason steadied himself, preparing to face the new challenger.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Victor Popescu leaned back in the dim glow of the surveillance room, his eyes drifting lazily over the scattered monitors. The labyrinth's grainy footage sputtered in and out, barely managing to capture glimpses of the chaos within.
His soldiers stood around him waiting for his orders, yet Victor remained relaxed, unbothered. His mind was elsewhere, barely focused on the blurry figures darting across the screens. The frantic, desperate movements of the intruders were of little consequence to him. No, his thoughts had turned to something more enjoyable—a new set of clothes he had acquired recently.
Sharp, dark fabrics, perfectly tailored. Perhaps he would wear it soon, a small change to mirror the new direction his life was taking.
Rachel had been a part of that old direction, a memory he had long since dismissed. He almost laughed at the thought of her. What had once been a source of fascination, a curiosity to indulge in, was now little more than a faded chapter, barely worth a footnote.
She'd had her chance, and she'd failed to live up to his expectations. He would find a new vice-captain soon, someone more fitting of the role—someone who understood respect, who could appreciate his power and position as they should. No, Rachel was insignificant.
But Mason Heartson… now, there was a nuisance he hadn't quite managed to forget. The boy's very existence irked him, a reminder of something distasteful. Mason had the audacity to walk freely, to act however he pleased, displaying his insolence in front of everyone, and worst of all, in front of Rachel.
Victor's hand clenched slightly at the thought, his lips twisting into a thin sneer. Mason's lack of respect, his casual disregard for authority, was an insult. The boy was bold, brazen even, acting as though he possessed any true ambition.
He flaunted himself as if he had the authority to take what he wanted, but he lacked even a shred of the dignity or purpose necessary to earn that right.
It disgusted Victor, this pathetic display. Mason didn't know what it meant to wield influence, to command respect, to be feared and admired in equal measure. And for that, Victor wanted nothing more than to watch the boy's confidence crumble under his grasp, to wipe that insufferable arrogance from his face. He savored the thought, the image of Mason at his mercy, broken and humbled, a fitting end to a misguided life.
Turning back to the screens, he observed the figures moving frantically through the labyrinth. There was Mason, sprinting with Rachel draped across his back, dodging the twisted, death-infused creatures that pursued him.
The surveillance was patchy at best due to the labryinth having no need for real security, the screen flickering as the cameras struggled to keep up, but every so often, Victor caught glimpses of them.
He watched as Mason stopped briefly, setting Rachel down. An argument? Victor narrowed his eyes, his curiosity piqued, but he could only make out vague gestures, a few sharp movements. It was hard to tell what they were saying, though the tension between them was palpable even through the grainy footage. Victor allowed himself a small smile.
And then, just as he hoped, they went their separate ways. Mason bolted down one path, the pack of beasts hot on his trail, while Rachel moved in the opposite direction. Victor's heart quickened, his mind calculating.
This was perfect. Mason, with his reckless arrogance, was drawing the beasts toward him, keeping himself occupied in a futile attempt to evade them. Victor could save the boy's defeat for later, a moment he would savor in its own time. What truly mattered now was Rachel.
Victor's gaze lingered on the enclosed chamber where she had vanished. A new opportunity had presented itself, one that he would not let slip away. Rachel, isolated and vulnerable, was now within his reach. He wanted to be there for her last moments, to see her understand the consequences of her grand greed.
With a cool, detached satisfaction, he turned to the soldiers standing around him.
Victor: Follow me.
The soldiers nodded in unison, their weapons at the ready, their faces expressionless. Victor couldn't help but feel a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. This was how it should be: obedience. A group that understood the natural flow of authority, with him at its pinnacle.
There was no need for haste. Victor walked at a leisurely pace, his hands clasped behind his back. Why should he hurry? This was his domain, every inch of it bending to his desires. The labyrinth, the soldiers, even the twisted creatures roaming its halls—they all existed to serve his will.
Mason Heartson could run all he wanted, but his fate was already sealed. The beasts would capture him in due time, leaving Victor the pleasure of dealing with the boy's remains later. As for Rachel… well, she was a loose end he was more than happy to tie up himself.
The hallways eventually opened into a large chamber. Victor paused, surveying the space before him. It was a training room, he hardly recognized, with various pieces of equipment scattered across the floor. Obsidian had designed it with practicality in mind: weights, combat dummies, and reinforced walls for testing abilities.
Overhead, a wide balcony stretched across one side of the room, where instructors would have stood to oversee the training below. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced across the floor, the faint hum of fluorescent lights the only sound.
Victor raised a hand, gesturing to the soldiers behind him.
Victor: She's here somewhere, up to her usual tricks, no doubt.
His voice was calm, almost bored, but there was an undercurrent of irritation.
She had no sense of propriety, no respect for the structure and authority that governed the world. It was shameful, really, for someone like her—a woman of such striking beauty—to resort to such undignified methods. He shook his head, the faintest sneer tugging at his lips as he scanned the room.
After a moment, Victor sighed and activated it, a faint, otherworldly glow enveloping his form as his senses sharpened. He focused, searching the room for any sign of her presence. The air shifted slightly, a subtle disturbance that caught his attention just in time.
His instincts flared, and he leaped back, narrowly avoiding a strike as a blade sliced through the space where he had just stood. The motion was fluid—aimed to kill.
Victor blinked, momentarily startled, before a slow, deliberate smile spread across his face. Rachel materialized before him, stepping out of the shadows with a knife in hand, her eyes blazing with fury.
For a brief moment, her expression caught him off guard. It wasn't fear or desperation that he saw—it was raw defiance, a fire that burned far brighter than he remembered.
Victor: Trickery?
His tone was biting, laced with disdain as he straightened himself. He gestured vaguely toward the knife, as though dismissing the attempt on his life as a minor inconvenience.
Victor: Deceit and lies—do you truly believe that's enough to make the world bend to your will? A vice-captain stooping to such desperate measures—it's unbecoming, Rachel. Unbefitting, especially for someone with your beauty.
His voice softened mockingly, dripping with condescension.
Victor: Must you take everything? The gazes of everyone around you, the attention you command effortlessly—is that not enough for you? Do you feel the need to seize even more?
Rachel's glare hardened as she raised the knife, her knuckles white with tension.
Rachel: God, you're annoying. Do you ever shut your mouth?
Her voice was sharp and cutting, slicing through his tirade. She took a step forward, her eyes narrowing.
Rachel: No more speeches. I'm tired of the sound of your voice, no I could go my whole life without hearing it again. Today's the day you die, do you understand? Today's the day I take that authority you like so much.
Victor raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She was bold but boldness without power was meaningless.
Victor: And how, exactly, do you plan to accomplish that? Your assassination attempt has failed. So tell me, what makes you think today the world will bend to you?
Rachel smiled, a slow, confident grin. She tilted her head, her voice calm but laced with venom.
Rachel: Because that idiot, Mason Heartson, isn't here anymore. I don't have to play the helpless damsel now.
Before Victor could respond, she vanished from his sight, her presence dissipating like smoke. His scowl deepened as he spun around, scanning the room for any sign of her. The faint metallic scent of blood reached him, and his stomach twisted with sudden realization. His gaze darted toward the soldiers who had followed him, and his breath caught in his throat.
They were all dead. Their throats had been slit, their bodies crumpled on the floor in a silent, lifeless heap. Victor's fists clenched as his anger flared, his composure slipping for a brief moment.
Victor: Rachel…
His voice was low, a growl of frustration as his eyes shot upward. There she stood, at the top of the balcony, her arms crossed and a triumphant smile spreading across her face.
How…
Rachel: Now that I don't have to hold back, I think I'll take it all for myself.
Greedy.