After several missions with the Pit and Pendulum, Sylvain had begun to earn the crew's trust. His precision, resourcefulness, and reliability had proven his worth time and time again. Though most of the group had started to recognize his contributions, Marcus remained skeptical. The man's sharp tongue and disdainful glances made it clear he wasn't ready to accept Sylvain as one of them.
Prometheus, however, had different plans. He saw potential in both of them—Sylvain's calculated brilliance and Marcus's battlefield experience. For the rebellion to succeed, Prometheus knew he needed them to work together. So, when news arrived of children being forced into labor at an energy cell factory, he saw an opportunity.
"Marcus, Sylvain," Prometheus began, leaning against the worn-out map table, "you'll both handle this mission. The reports say the factory is using children to work on hazardous reactors. We're getting them out."
Marcus immediately scoffed, crossing his arms. "I can do it alone, Prometheus. I don't need him slowing me down."
Prometheus's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a request. There's no negotiating this, Marcus. You're going together."
Marcus sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He glanced at Sylvain, who stood silently, his expression calm and unreadable. "Fine," Marcus said through gritted teeth. "C'mon, rich kid. We don't have all day."
Sylvain met his glare with a faint smirk. His mismatched eyes—one glowing orange, the other a fiery red—seemed to catch the dim light of the room, an unsettling contrast to his composed demeanor. Without a word, he reached for his feline mask, securing it over his face.
"Let's go," he said, his voice steady, the sharp edges of his determination cutting through the tension in the air
The factory loomed in the distance, its smokestacks vomiting thick black clouds into the night sky. The hum of machinery and occasional sparks of light painted a grim picture of its inner workings. This was where the energy cells were made, a place dangerous enough for skilled laborers—let alone the children forced to toil here. The nobles behind its operations didn't care about the casualties; they only cared about profit.Marcus and Sylvain approached under the cover of darkness, slipping past the guards stationed at the gates.
"Stay quiet, rich kid," Marcus muttered, his voice a low growl. "This isn't your ballroom."
Sylvain didn't reply. Instead, he moved with precision, his feline mask blending into the shadows as they infiltrated the factory. The air inside was thick with heat and the metallic stench of burning energy cores. In the dim light, they could see the children working—small figures hunched over dangerous machinery, their faces pale with exhaustion and fear.
The two rebels moved quickly. Marcus gestured for Sylvain to plant the charges on the reactors while he guarded their approach. The mission demanded silence, but their actions were anything but subtle. The first explosion ripped through the factory floor, sending a shock wave of chaos. Marcus grinned.
"Let's give these bastards a real show," he said, tossing another explosive toward a nearby reactor.
The second detonation followed, louder than the first. The factory descended into chaos. Workers screamed, alarms blared, and the children scattered as Marcus and Sylvain guided them toward the exits.
"Go!" Sylvain shouted, his voice cutting through the pandemonium. "Get out of here!"
The children ran, disappearing into the night. But their escape didn't go unnoticed. The enforcers arrived, their heavy boots echoing against the steel floors as they surrounded Marcus and Sylvain.
"Well, looks like we're not getting out quietly," Marcus said, drawing his blade.
Sylvain's mismatched eyes gleamed through his mask. "We never were."
The two rebels moved in perfect sync, cutting through the enforcers with brutal efficiency. The factory floor became a battlefield, blood pooling on the ground as the enforcers fell one by one. The air was thick with the smell of oil and iron, the clang of steel against steel echoing like a grim symphony.
When the last enforcer fell, Marcus sheathed his blade and surveyed the carnage. "I guess our job here is done," he said, stepping over the bodies. "I'll grab the intel files from the bureaus. Lucien might need them for his crazy toys."
Sylvain nodded, remaining behind to guard the scene. The blood-soaked factory was eerily silent now, save for the crackling flames of the destroyed reactors. He stood motionless, his feline mask glinting in the faint light as he waited.
A familiar voice echoed through the entrance, breaking the stillness. "What do we have here? A moment for me to show my worth, I see. Hey, rebel! C'mon and let me kill you so I can get graded!"Jack Flamesworth stepped into view, his arrogant grin plastered across his face. Sylvain immediately recognized him—his pathetic cousin, desperate for recognition.
"He probably thought he'd take the glory for himself if he came alone. What a dork," Sylvain thought, a flicker of amusement crossing his mind.
Jack closed the distance, his boots splashing in the blood pooling around Sylvain. But as he stepped forward, a sudden shift in the air stopped him in his tracks. An intense, suffocating bloodlust radiated from Sylvain—an energy imitating death itself. Jack's bravado faltered as his instincts screamed at him to run.
"JACK!" a voice shouted from afar. Maria Welter emerged from the shadows, her expression a mix of urgency . "DO NOT ENGAGE WITH HIM! HE IS THE ONE THE HOUSES WARNED US ABOUT!"
Jack's face twisted in confusion and fear. "Huh? Now that I remember... A crimson feline mask, mismatched orange and red eyes... It can't be—" His voice trailed off as realization dawned. "The Pit's Phantom..."
Maria reached him and whispered urgently, "Right now, the strongest killing intent in this area is his. I can tell by his stance that he could kill us in an instant. An elite warrior like him is far beyond us. Let's retreat, Jack."
Jack froze, trembling. Out of sheer panic, he raised his handgun and aimed it at Sylvain. "I-I will kill you, Phantom!" he stammered, pulling the trigger.
Sylvain didn't flinch. With a single swing of his blade, he deflected the bullet, the sound of steel against steel ringing through the air. His voice was calm, but chilling. "That pride you have, Jack... Will it cease once I cripple you and let you bleed?"
He stepped forward slowly, each footstep echoing in the blood-soaked silence. His mismatched eyes glowed brighter, the intensity of his killing intent rising with every step. Jack's breath hitched, his legs shaking as fear overtook him.
Before Sylvain could reach him, Maria acted. With a swift motion, she struck Jack on the neck, knocking him unconscious. "This won't be over, Phantom," she said, her voice cold and steady. She hoisted Jack over her shoulder and retreated, disappearing into the shadows.
Moments later, Marcus returned. "Everything's clear?" he asked, his eyes scanning the bloodied factory floor.Sylvain nodded. "Yeah. Everything's fine."
Marcus raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. "Maybe working with you isn't that bad after all."
Sylvain smirked beneath his mask. "So, are we teaming up more from now on?"
Marcus scoffed, his usual sarcasm returning. "Absolutely not, rich kid."
Later on ,Maria Welter stood at the center of the grand hall, her voice composed as she addressed the gathered lords and representatives of the noble houses. "The rebellion group known as 'The Pit and Pendulum' has escalated into a significant threat," she began. "Their actions have become more calculated, more devastating. And at the heart of their operations is a figure we've come to know as 'The Phantom of the Pit.' A single individual who has turned this rebellion into a force to be reckoned with."Her words caused a ripple of murmurs across the chamber. She continued, "He is fast, precise, cunning, and strong. His strategies are diverse, and he strikes where we least expect it. What's more alarming is how he landed on classified chemical items and survived while using both the copper serum and the chrono drug—a feat believed impossible until now."
Sylvain, seated among the other members of the Flamesworth delegation, kept his expression unreadable, his hands folded in front of him. To anyone watching, he appeared calm, as if Maria's report did not concern him. Yet he was keenly aware of the attention her words were drawing.
"We should shut him down before he becomes a real danger to the structure of the houses," Sylvain said, his gaze scanning the room to convince them that he indeed did mean those words.
"The Pit and Pendulum is not the only threat we face," Pierre Welter interjected, his deep voice silencing the whispers. "The kingdom of Ilisar and Usovgrad's republic are still pressing on our borders, attempting to seize the eastern and northern territories of Pilturia. I suggest we divide these matters among the houses to address them efficiently."
Sylvain's eyes narrowed slightly. It was an obvious ploy—Pierre's house was the largest and best-equipped in terms of manpower. By taking the lion's share of the external conflicts, the Welters would secure even more prestige while leaving the rebellion for the other houses to deal with.
Arnold Forger rose from his seat, his tone defiant as he spoke. "Then the Forgers will handle the little terrorist threat—"
"The Flamesworth will crush it," Faust Flamesworth interrupted, his voice cutting through Arnold's like a blade. The room fell silent. There was no mistaking the authority in his tone, nor the unspoken threat beneath it. Faust had no patience for negotiation, and everyone present knew better than to challenge him. Arnold clenched his jaw but nodded curtly, retreating with a terse, "Very well."
Sylvain observed the exchange with a blank expression, his features carefully devoid of emotion. Yet, inside, he couldn't help but acknowledge the predictability of it all. Faust's dominance was absolute, and no one in this room had the courage to oppose him.
Pierre's voice broke the silence once more. "Now we will convene a meeting for the High Council. Those who have not passed the ceremony may take their leave."
Maria, Sylvain, and several others stood and bowed respectfully before exiting the chamber. Sylvain's steps were steady as he made his way to his private quarters, but as soon as he closed the door behind him, a smile crept across his face. Then, as if the weight of the moment finally hit him, he threw back his head and laughed hysterically—a sound of triumph and unrestrained joy.
River, his cat companion, blinked up at him in confusion from her perch on his desk. Sylvain picked her up, holding her close as he whispered, "You heard that, River? He finally took the bait. Faust caught the bait!"
The cat let out a soft meow in response, her tail flicking lazily.
Sylvain's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a near growl. "Faust... I will make you pay for everything. My hate, my mother's, my sister's... you'll feel it all, you damn bastard."
As he spoke, a shadow seemed to fall on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Sylvain thought he saw a figure—the silhouette of a woman, graceful yet haunting, with a prominent scar running across her neck as if her head was reattached to its place. The image was fleeting, but it froze him in place.
"Don't misunderstand it, brother," a soft, familiar voice seemed to whisper. "I don't have the capacity to handle hate anymore."
Sylvain turned sharply, his blade drawn in an instant, but the room was empty. His breathing was uneven as he scanned every corner, but there was no trace of anyone.
His grip on the blade tightened. "Am I finally going mad?" he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. But deep down, he knew the answer wasn't so simple.