The elevator's hum filled the silence, a low, droning vibration that rattled against Kieran's frayed nerves. He adjusted his grip on Amara, her bandaged body a weight heavier than it had any right to be. The crimson stains on her wrappings stood out starkly against the dim light flickering above them.
Across from him, Al Capone stood with the casual ease of a man who had never worried about anything in his life. His pinstriped suit was immaculate, his fedora tilted at a rakish angle. He puffed on his cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. Flanking him were his two enforcers: the gunner with his Tommy gun slung over his shoulder and the poker card-wielder flicking a glowing card between his fingers like a nervous tic.
"Y'know, kid," Capone drawled, leaning against the polished brass wall of the elevator, his fedora tilted just enough to shadow his glowing red eyes. "I like your moxie. Charging in here, shielding your little team, putting it all on the line. Real inspiring stuff."
Kieran's eyes narrowed, his grip on Amara tightening. "Could you get to the point?"
Capone smirked, taking a slow drag from his cigar. The smoke curled lazily around him, dissipating into the corners of the cramped space. "Yeah, Clean and simple. Coming in without a heal'a? That's not just bold. It's plain stupid."
The enforcers flanking Capone shifted. The one with the Tommy gun let out a sharp laugh, the kind that echoed with mockery. "Right on the money. I mean, look at her—barely holding on. What's your plan, Shield Boy? The power of frienship or something?"
Her fingers twitched against his chest, a faint but deliberate movement. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind him she was still in there, still fighting. And he wasn't going to let her down.
"Not like I've got a ton of options," Kieran snapped, his voice low and dangerous. He adjusted Amara slightly, shielding her body with his own. "How dare you rudely, mock our bonds."
The second enforcer, flicking glowing poker cards between his fingers like a magician, leaned forward, his grin wide and sharp. "Yeah, rude. But also accurate. Seriously, what's your play here? You can barely hold her up, let alone keep yourself alive."
"Enough," Capone said, his tone calm but final. He glanced at his men, his smirk fading into something harder. "We're not here to pick fights with our... ally. Are we?"
The two enforcers froze, their postures stiffening. They exchanged a glance before looking away, muttering under their breaths.
Kieran's jaw tightened. "Ally? You're just here to play your hand, Capone. Don't pretend this is charity."
"Charity?" Capone chuckled, his smirk returning. "No, kid. Charity's not my style. But let's call this... a mutually beneficial arrangement. You get her to Sylva. She gets healed. You owe me one. I take care of some business along the way. Everyone walks away happy."
"Except for the part where I owe you," Kieran muttered, his tone sharp.
"Would you prefer she dies in your arms right now?" Capone asked, his voice like silk laced with steel. He took another drag from his cigar, his gaze locked on Kieran's. "Because that's your alternative."
The air grew heavier. Kieran's glare didn't waver, but his grip on Amara shifted, his shield sliding slightly as he adjusted her weight. Her head lolled against his chest, her breath shallow.
The elevator fell into silence, the hum of its descent filling the air. Finally, Kieran nodded, his grip on Amara tightening. "Fine. But if you try anything—"
"You'll what?" the gunner interrupted, a smug grin on his face. "Throw that shield at us? Big boy I dare ya."
Kieran's gaze snapped to him, the air around him bristling with tension. "Try me."
The card-wielder stepped forward, his glowing cards fanning out between his fingers like a magician preparing a trick. "Oh yeah, this is gonna be a blast."
"Both of you, can it smucks," Capone said, not bothering to look at them. His eyes stayed fixed on Kieran, his grin widening. "Now, let's all get along, huh? Wouldn't want to ruin the mood."
The tension in the elevator was suffocating, but Kieran didn't back down. His shield remained steady at his side, his gaze unflinching. Finally, the Tommy gunner and the card-wielder stepped back, muttering under their breaths.
Capone smirked, his cigar bobbing as he spoke. "See? We can play nice. Now, let's get a move on it."
DING.
The elevator jolted to a stop. The doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a corridor bathed in dim, flickering light. The walls were blackened, covered in jagged cracks that pulsed faintly with crimson veins. Thick roots twisted along the floor and ceiling, their shapes distorted and unnatural.
Kieran stepped out first, his shield raised. The air was heavy, suffused with a thick, oppressive energy that made it hard to breathe. The dim light barely pierced the darkness, and every shadow seemed alive, writhing at the edges of his vision.
Capone stepped out after him, his enforcers flanking him like loyal hounds. He took a long drag of his cigar, exhaling the smoke with a contented sigh. "Ah, the basement. Always hated this place."
Kieran shot him a glare. "What is this place?"
Capone shrugged, his grin never wavering. "Call it a prelude to hell. All us big shots who get invited have to trug through here to the core itself."
This place feels wrong," Kieran said, his voice low. He adjusted Amara in his arms, his gaze darting to the shifting shadows. "Like it's watching us."
"It is," Capone said, his tone casual. "Always is. Welcome to the Core's basement, kid. Hope you like paranoia."
The air shifted.
Kieran froze, his shield raising instinctively. His eyes scanned the corridor, the oppressive energy pressing against his chest like a physical weight.
The shadows deepened.
A faint, crimson glow bled through the cracks in the walls. It wasn't light—it was something darker, more insidious. It pulsed faintly, in rhythm with the steady thrum of the roots beneath their feet.
Capone's grin faded, his cigar lowering. He glanced at the shadows, his eyes narrowing. "Well. Its about time."
The Tommy gunner's grip tightened on his weapon. "Boss... you feel that?"
"Yeah," Capone muttered, his voice quieter now. "I feel it."
Kieran's knuckles were white on his shield. His heart pounded in his chest as the shadows seemed to press closer, their edges sharper, their forms almost humanoid.
And then he felt it.
The air grew colder. The oppressive weight grew heavier. And at the edge of the corridor, just beyond the flickering light, a presence lingered. Watching. Waiting.
The Sentinel's aura bled through the darkness like an open wound, its malice suffusing the space.
Kieran's breath hitched. His grip on Amara tightened.
Capone's grin returned, sharp and predatory. "Looks like we've got company."