“There are a million and one ways to manifest a Tide or channel drops from the ‘Sea. Seven types, yes, but the sole limits are imagination, practice, and obduracy. I’ve seen Cryos conjure continents of ice, only to have them melted by Thermos with their blistering heat. Yet, one Tide user stands above the rest. Legate Swane. The legends of her Tide…


    Stigmata? Just a boon. A tool to add to your arsenal. True power lies in the Tides. Legate Swane was so skilled that she could destroy a planet with nothing more than the strength of her Humidified Knuckle.


    That woman... pray Congress never finds where she disappeared to, or that she succumbed to old age. If she and Vicar ever clash, they would wipe out whole Sectors. Now, you lot—you’re leagues from mastery. But, as we say, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Neither will your legend.


    Show me what you can do. Anyone who can top Rosa’s expertise will get double rations. Except you, Claudius. You get quarter if your half-breed blood fails.”


    <ul>


    <li>


    Centurion Plio, addressing his newest batch of Judge-aspirants.


    </li>


    </ul>


    Dante’s horror revealed a hulking figure, a grotesque blend of contorting flesh and steel. The metallized abomination pulsated like veins made of steel, and its meat was as rigid as iron, reflecting in the human’s eyes. Just as it turned the corner, the barrel of a shotgun—one with a beating heart at its center—pressed against the side of its head. A deafening explosion followed, sending the creature reeling with a hideous roar.


    Out of the smoke emerged a slim figure, dragging Dante into another room. Unable to register the slam of the door behind him, he stumbled with his head spinning from the lack of Nullify in his system.


    Then, he found himself pulled through a hole in the room’s side and into another before he could react. When his vision cleared, he was face-to-face with the last person he expected to see.


    Was this luck? No. There is no one else he could find here. Only one would survive such a monster long enough for help to arrive. Then again, only one could create such a thing, too.


    Dante never surrounded himself with the weak, and this woman was anything but.


    Joan Rafe met him with a grimace, but she wasn’t happy to see him.


    “We have little time,” the ‘doctor’ said, reloading the shotgun with practiced efficiency. Two of her four slim eyes locked onto him while her antennae twitched in greeting. “That thing won’t stay down for long.”


    Dante, still processing the madness, unlocked his mouth and asked, “What is that thing? A Seafarer? Dirge?”


    Joan shook her head, her antennae drooping. Regret etched her face as she whispered hurriedly, “No. I don’t mess with those things—I’d rather not have my head turned into a toilet. I found some old human tech… spliced it with a few prisoners the wardens delivered. Now we’ve got to kill Frankenstein.”


    “We?” Dante said as he tossed his hands, incredulous. She even named it after one of his stories. But Joan nodded as though the matter was settled.


    “Yes. Come up with something for me, will you? I need the chip in its brain. Valuable data for my newest Biotic. I’m sure you came here for something—don’t act like you showed up for nothing. Help me, and I’ll help you. No questions asked,” Joan told him with a sigh, the rumbling of Frankenstein’s approach echoing through the hallways.


    Dante wouldn’t get a better deal than this. Was this fate? Or some cruel setup? An unspoken prayer answered. Or a trap?


    A free yes from the renowned Skinwalker? The woman who had tormented him as a child? Sure, she cared more about research than anything else, but...


    He shot Joan a suspicious glance, his paranoia spiking like a crazed alarm. However, it never reached its peak.


    From behind him came a soft, chittering laugh. Dante turned to see his younger brother, aged and grinning. Judas snickered, finding amusement in Dante’s caution.


    “You get one lucky break after years of misfortune, and you think it’s some kind of setup? Get over yourself. The universe doesn’t care that much about you. It’s just luck. Now die. Or don’t. It’s whatever, really,” Judas stated as the phantom existing only in his mind, proposing the simplest solution.


    But... his paranoia warred against the temptation, the safety net that had kept him alive all these years.


    It couldn’t be that easy. And... why would Judas want him to take this deal? Is he trying to psyche him out?


    “Dante? Answer me,” Joan ordered while her secondary arms hung beneath her first pair, gripped his shoulder and shook him back into reality. With her words, he could ignore the mind-plague for the time being.


    Dante nodded and set his terms, “I’ll help, but I need your help to break API out of Lightjar. The kid doesn’t deserve to be there.”


    Joan’s insides produced snorting laughter that she struggled to keep down. Perhaps, she was in a terrible position, her life seemingly on the line, but the irony of what Dante had said was too much for her to control.


    With laughter bubbling up despite the situation, Joan couldn’t help but cough, “You? Caring about that kid? Please. You’re after something, and that’s fine. I accept. But you’ll pay for any serums I have to use.”


    Dante agreed without hesitation. He had no desire to see her… Biotics… unless absolutely necessary. They shook on the deal, and Dante pressed her hand into his palm, his mind sharpening despite Judas’ presence in the back of his thoughts.


    Joan’s antennae twitched, and she offered a rare, genuine smile, saying, “That’s the Dante I remember. Two generations of Penances. Let’s hope I never meet a third.”


    Dante ignored her cruel nostalgia, his mind already working.


    The creature survived her shotgun blast—stunned, maybe hurt, but far from dead. It’s probably immune to drugs and poisons, knowing Joan’s work. Suffocation might work. But how?


    His gaze fell on a jar filled with an unknown liquid and floating organs. The stench made his nose crinkle. He grabbed it, dumped the contents onto the floor, and examined the jar.


    It might function as a makeshift breathing tank if placed over my mouth and nose. Not for long, but maybe long enough. That could be the difference between life and death.


    Most sentients breathe oxygen, carbon dioxide, or nitrogen. Otherwise, they need a breathing tank like a Gwek. This thing? It likely couldn’t last two minutes without air. And something that big? It’d burn through its supply even faster.


    With a plan forming, Dante turned to Joan and asked, “Where’s your control center? You could funnel gas in—can you pull it all out?” The ideas within hinged on his own experiences, the sudden chemicals in a sealed room flashing through his mind.


    Joan countered his idea while agreeing with the initial possibility, “Probably. But what about me? I’m not human like you. I can’t hold my breath long.”


    The older woman who had worked with his father long ago in the past knew very well the ins and outs of the human body. After all, it was Dante himself she had experimented with to pay for his father’s excavations. The patient’s record on holding his breath?


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Eight minutes without pure oxygen. Fifteen with it.


    “That’s what this jar is for,” Dante replied with a grimace. “It’ll buy you time. Just get me to the control center.”


    The woman sighed in agreement, finally agreeing to the near-suicidal plan. While shaking her head, she crept toward the exit of the upturned patient room they were in.


    The human followed her into the hallway, letting the ‘doctor’ lead.


    Dante’s mind raced as he and Joan navigated the maze of corridors, keeping low to the ground. They moved from fallen debris to doorways, pausing only when the distant rumble of the creature’s movements allowed them a moment’s reprieve. The two slipped in and out of rooms, carefully avoiding the monster’s detection with every step. This was Joan''s home, her lab, and yet she didn''t seem to care despite all the death. It was as if this was a typical Friday for her. Nothing more. Nothing less.


    The man''s heart thundered in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a war drum. Every time they ducked behind cover, his breath hitched in his throat. The closer they got to their destination, the worse it became. The creature seemed to linger longer with each step, its movements growing more erratic.


    As they reached the final doorway before the command center, the creature suddenly turned. Dante grabbed Joan, yanking her back just in time to avoid being spotted.


    They froze, pressed together against the wall, barely breathing as the sound of the monster’s nostrils filled the surrounding space with heavy winds.


    “Cutting it pretty close, huh? Just let her go. You don’t need her to transfigure a body for the prison. Break in, break out—what will they do, shoot you? Let go. She’s just a mortal. You’re lucky if she survives until tomorrow.”


    The fear and adrenaline coursing through Dante wasn’t just from the monster. Judas was there, his voice dripping with sarcasm, urging Dante to make reckless decisions. The voice entered his mind directly, not even passing through the air. Part of him knew Judas was right—he didn’t need Joan. That wasn’t to mention how much he hated her.


    He loathed every part of her, from her cryptic mind to her tremorless hands.


    But Dante had made a deal. He shook on it. The human way.


    That wasn’t a promise he could break. He had abandoned much of himself. Too much. His word was one thing he could not leave behind, for he was terrified of the man he could become.


    Judas’ voice sharpened his focus, but it gnawed at his nerves, too. The creature’s rumbling faded after several moments, giving them a note of calm. Joan glanced back at Dante, offering a quick nod of thanks, her antennae wriggling in unison with her head.


    With their next movement, they finally reached the command center, only to find the door locked from the inside. Dante’s heart sank, his mind halting as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.


    Breaking in would make too much noise, alerting the monster instantly. But abandoning the plan wasn’t an option. This was the only way to kill the creature without damaging the chip. One of his explosives would break the deal, and Joan was a stickler with these things.


    There was a slim chance he could harness the Lightsea to help, but that kind of gamble wasn’t Dante’s style. He would think his way out first and only resort to violence if he couldn’t weasel away.


    Desperation clawed at him. Still, he’d rather put his life in his own hands than rely on an unknown force.


    He pressed his handgun against the lock, his aim trembling—not from fear, but from withdrawal. Joan might’ve thought it was fear, but Dante didn’t care.


    Joan’s eyes dilated in dread, and she whispered harshly to the man, “Stop! You’ll bring it right to us!”


    Dante ignored her. He fired a round into the door handle, the deafening crack reverberating through the underground lab. The sound rang in his ears, momentarily disorienting him, but a more terrible noise snapped him back into focus.


    A bone-chilling roar echoed through the walls, shaking the steel around them and chilling both people’s veins.


    Nevertheless, the lock held. With gritted teeth, Dante fired once more. And again. The third shot finally shattered the lock, so he shoved Joan through the door without hesitation.


    Upon entering, they discovered a motionless technician slumped over the console, with pooled blood staining the floor from a grievous wound. His lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Joan ignored the body, rushing to the controls to pull the oxygen from the room.


    Dante crouched beside the dead man. He gently closed the technician’s eyes with two fingers, not offering a prayer, but silently wishing his family the best. Prayer didn’t come easily to him.


    Then, he casually turned toward the doorway, the monster’s growl growing louder every second. Dante’s troubled mind spun with considerations, calculations, ticking seconds, and last-minute epiphanies.


    The ground trembled under the beast’s weight as it neared, its monstrous form looming into view. Grotesque flesh melded with living metal as Frankenstein, as Joan called it, let out a howl that rattled the low ceiling.


    The bone-shaking noise caused Joan to stumble, nearly losing her grip on the controls. But to Dante?


    His heart slowed, his palms dried, and his hands steadied. The allure and beating drum of desire in his mind faded. Then, his mind... fell sober.


    “Now that! That’s what I like to see! The real you.”


    Ignoring the phantom within his mind, Dante strode through Judas’ intangible form and into the hallway proper. He needed to buy Joan time for this thing to suffocate to death. Frankenstein’s hulking heaves of air told such an obvious tale as it charged right for him.


    Dante bounced from foot to foot, thanking his sleep for recovering whatever the Lightsea did to him. He took only a fraction of a second to stabilize himself before the lights flickered overhead, casting elongated shadows that danced along the walls.


    As if on cue, the fans paused, then reversed, pulling the air from the room and creating a vacuum with a terrible whirl.


    Neither creature cared. Not the mindless monster nor the human, who relished in the clarity of not thinking. They both rushed toward each other, driven by violence. Frankenstein roared, claws outstretched, steel gleaming from exposed flesh. Dante met him with a howl of pure adrenaline.


    The dancing shadows, cast by the sudden influx of power, made it appear that those two shaded monsters met each other in their soulless dashes.


    But Dante never fought on his enemy’s terms.


    Frankenstein lunged, its massive body blotting out the lights. As its steel claws swiped for his throat, Dante twisted sharply, sliding beneath the hulking abomination. While under the beast, he raised both revolvers and fired, the gunshots thundering in the enclosed space. The bullets tore into Frankenstein’s flesh, but it didn’t hinder him in the slightest.


    Dante coiled back onto his feet, realizing with a sinking dread that he was slower than Frankenstein. The monster swiped at him, spittle flying as it roared. Dante, though surprised, reacted swiftly, skirting the massive claws that grazed his side, tearing through his shirt as he bounced off the wall.


    A medical bed crashed to the floor, blocking his retreat. Dante staggered backward on his feet, pain shooting through his body. Behind him, he could hear Joan working frantically at the controls, the air in the lab growing thinner by the second.


    Dante’s lungs labored as if standing on top of a mountain. He could hold his air for many minutes, but that was when motionless and with a steady heartrate. This was anything but the ideal circumstance. Frankenstein’s eyes locked onto him, filled with malevolent rage, oblivious to the impending doom. Or maybe it just didn’t care.


    It lunged again. Dante fired two more shots, aiming for its head. The bullets hit, but the creature only recoiled with splattering muscle, its rage unabated. Dante’s augments groaned under the strain as he sidestepped, narrowly avoiding another strike from its ruthless claws.


    Dante was fast. Faster than any normal human could be without metal and technology in their veins. He was beyond all but those who touched on the Lightsea. He could run a mile in two minutes flat, yet even he was struggling to keep up with Frankenstein.


    Worse still, the air grew thinner, and Dante felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The monster faltered, too, its movements slowing, but the attack was already in motion. Dante raised his right arm, bracing himself, knowing there was no escaping the hit with his back now against a wall.


    Unfortunately, the hallway was too occupied with bodies and debris for him to evade any longer.


    Just like the specimens that had piqued Joan’s interest, Dante bore the blow’s weight. A meteoric fist of claws punched his left arm, shattering his limb and spearing through. Despite the damage, he held the momentum, stopping it just before it reached his heart.


    Dante grinned through bloodied teeth, scarcely drawing another breath. Frankenstein tried to rip its fist free, but Dante’s hand clamped down like iron, holding it in place. The creature raised its other arm for a killing blow, but it staggered, the heavy limb drooping before it could strike.


    Joan had done it—the oxygen was nearly gone. The creature roared, a primal sound of fury, but its strength was waning as it wasted what little air remained. Frankenstein lulled to the side, its eyes dulling.


    Dante stepped back as the monster fell to its knees, gasping for air. Its razor-sharp claws slid out of his arm, seizing chunks of flesh. In seconds, blood poured from the five gaping wounds, half a pint lost in moments.


    Without access to the Lightsea, it would take months to heal and rehabilitate. Weeks with money. Days with loads of it. Some people could even die of it, no matter how rich. Joan could shunt that time down to a day or so with her expertise, but she isn''t normal. I wonder how much the Lightsea can do? Are the rumors of the secrets deeper in the galaxy true? Can... people indeed warp reality to their whims?


    Dante’s oxygen-deprived brain struggled to focus as Joan held the air for another minute, ensuring Frankenstein’s demise. The extra sixty seconds were too much, and Dante dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.


    Eight minutes had been his record—while meditating, not bleeding out.


    Colors flittered in and out of Dante’s mind as he reached for the Lightsea. It was a risk, but he had overestimated himself again, something he wished he did less often.


    “Yeah, that’s it. Just take a little slurp. How else are you going to get stronger? You’ve got talent. I mean it!” Judas’ mocking voice grated at him, but Dante hated he was doing precisely what the bastard wanted.


    Yet, he didn’t have a choice. Sure, he could survive the injury, but he wouldn’t be at his peak for the coming jailbreak.


    He had to do this, or Archimedes’ execution would be here before he was better, even if Joan gave him her experimental drugs. Groaning, he waded through the fatigue and the black spots in his vision, reaching for that sublime current in the universe.


    Like a hound catching the scent of prey, Dante’s head snapped upward, his eyes rolling back uncontrollably. He shook as an ocean of light flooded his vision. His lungs stopped burning. His arm stopped bleeding. But his hands began that familiar, near-imperceptible tremor—the one he hated.


    A sharp pat on the back jolted him from his thoughts, “Knew you’d come through, Dante. Now, let’s get this chip out of Frankenstein—” Joan stopped mid-stride, staring at him, stunned. “What the fuck?”


    Joan dropped the scalpel she’d been holding for Frankenstein, staring at Dante in shock. She stuttered in reverse, but Dante was too drained by the Lightsea’s infusion to respond. It wasn’t as bad as a moment prior, but the air in the hallway was still thin, not fully replenished. He wasn’t like Joan, who had already secured an oxygen mask.


    “Are you...” Joan hesitated, studying Dante’s unblinking eyes. “Either you’re on a batch of chems I’ve never heard of before, which is impossible, or... you’re Possessed.”


    Dante shook his head, annoyed by her dual hatred and infatuation with Seafarers and Psionics, “Don’t say that. I’m in full control. Now get your damn chip.”


    Possessed—that word grated on him. Few used it to describe Seafarers, remnants from an old age, and those possessed hated it for good reason. Dante pushed himself to his feet, still wobbling from the Lightsea’s strain, while Joan watched him with vigilance. He flipped his arms out, feigning normalcy enough to make Joan back off.


    But he was never alone. Not anymore.


    “See? Felt good, huh? Imagine it. You could do anything with enough practice. Sure, it feels rough right now, but it''ll get better over time. How about you ask that... hmm... what was her name? Ah! Sonna. She has the smell of my kind. From a long time of contact. How about you have her help you step into my home?” Judas leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed. Dante sighed, not answering aloud. He briefly considered it, then promptly disregarded the notion.


    It’s just a ruse. Sure, Sonna led the Federation of Flesh’s mission with an Old One as the attack vector, but that doesn’t mean she knows how to use the Lightsea. Why would she? Hmm...


    Dante tapped his chin with his fingers, contemplating the issue. He finalized his earlier hypothesis that Sonna must be a higher-up’s child. Who is to say she wasn’t kin of a true and blue Seafarer? And a powerful one?


    The idea sunk into Dante’s mind like a virus, something he couldn’t remove despite the risk. What if she knew wrongly? Or if she told him what to do to kill him?


    Paranoia struck into indecision.


    He flip-flopped between it being unwarranted and painfully obvious until Joan was done. The woman held a tiny digital chip between her fingertips with a smile and said, “See? All done. Now, could you get me out of here? With a disaster like this... the locals will be on my ass. Contracts and blackmail mean little with this much... unsavoriness. Plus, I want to hear about what treasure you unearthed.”


    Dante nodded before striding through the devastated bodies and bloodstained hallway toward the exit. Dante’s steps slowed, both in silent respect and from fatigue. The Lightsea placed a unique burden upon the body with each use and the passage of time.


    The man could tell he was getting acclimated to it, but not fast enough to his liking. Still, his mind sauntered out of his body, deep in thought.


    Maybe... just maybe, Sonna’ll be helpful for something other than fodder.


    After climbing the stairs upward, Dante stepped back into the alleyway. He shifted his head upward, grinning as he felt the rains wash away the sins that hitched a ride within the lab. Crimson departed his flesh and clothes as he relished the droplets with sealed eyes.


    Then he opened them. It had been a few hours. The other two were likely awake. It was time to fetch them before they missed their transport.