Broken Oaths, Burning World

*Warning: This chapter talks about the sensitive and contain mature scene, if you have the courage, you can proceed

The grandiose edifice of Song Luoyang's mansion loomed against the tempestuous sky, its baroque façade now weathered and foreboding. Rain lashed against its arched windows like cold tears of sorrow, and the heavens grumbled with distant thunder, as if mourning the tragedy that had unfolded within its walls.

Inside, the living room was a tableau of opulence and ruin. Gilded furniture and intricate tapestries bore mute witness to the tragedy, their grandeur now tainted by an air of desolation. The SSCBF officers, led by Robert and Lingaong Xuein, moved with practised precision, their faces drawn with intensity as the clock ticked relentlessly.

"We've five minutes," Robert murmured, his voice low but firm, a reminder of the constraints placed upon them.

From the corner of her eye, Lingaong Xuein noticed two figures—Elan and Shira of the SCP secret police—conversing in hushed tones, their gazes darting intermittently toward the SSCBF team. Lingaong Xuein stepped closer to Robert, her voice barely above a whisper, her lips near his ear.

"They're watching us. Look," she said, her finger subtly indicating the duo. "Elan's gone to the other side, but Shira... she's fixed on us like a hawk. They think we're accomplices—agents of the assassin." Her eyes flicked toward the SCP officers, who seemed as if they were waiting for any excuse to pounce.

Robert's jaw tightened, and he glanced toward Shira, his gaze a dagger of quiet defiance. "They think we're lawless," he whispered back. "They think their authority makes them the arbiters of justice. Let them bask in their delusion—we've a job to do."

Lingaong Xuein nodded, her shoulders straightening as they continued their meticulous search.

Near the fireplace, Tao-Ren's voice rang out, soft but insistent. "Captain Robert!" she called, her hand hovering over a suspicious section of plaster on the wall.

Robert strode over, his boots clicking against the marble floor, Lingaong following close behind. The plaster was faintly uneven, a subtle inconsistency that betrayed its secret.

"This could be something," Tao-Ren said, her tone resolute.

Robert studied it for a moment, then nodded. "Break it. We need to see what's behind."

As Tao-Ren reached for her tools, a sharp voice interrupted.

"Stop!"

Shira stepped forward, her SCP badge gleaming under the chandelier's light, her eyes cold and sharp as a whetted blade. "Your time is up. Five minutes—no more, no less."

Lingaong Xuein's temper flared, and she took a step toward Shira, her tone scathing. "You dare lecture us on time when a family has been butchered in cold blood? If you'd spent less time watching us and more time doing your job, we might already have answers!"

Before Shira could respond, Elan entered the room, his presence a storm of authority. His smirk was like a blade, cutting through the tension. "Take your team and leave," he commanded, his voice smooth but laced with menace. "Your five minutes are over. And if you defy us, there will be consequences."

Robert turned to his squad, his expression a mask of calm even as the tension in the room reached a boiling point. "We're leaving," he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding.

The SSCBF officers began to file out, their movements deliberate, though anger simmered beneath the surface. As Robert passed Elan, he stopped, his gaze piercing and unyielding.

"Justice isn't bound by a clock, Elan," Robert said, his tone as cold as the rain outside. "You may wield power today, but the truth has a way of slipping through even the tightest grip. Mark my words—you'll find no peace until the murderer is brought to light, whether it suits your agenda or not."

Elan's smirk deepened, a predator's grin. "Bold words, Robert. But in this world, truth is malleable, shaped by those with the strength to bend it. Be careful where you tread—loyalty has a price, and not all debts can be paid in kind."

Robert held his gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before turning to follow his team.

As they stepped out of the mansion, the rain greeted them with ferocity, drenching their clothes and chilling them to the bone. Thunder growled ominously in the distance, and a flash of lightning illuminated the mansion's façade, now a silhouette of looming menace against the night sky.

Robert paused briefly at the threshold, his eyes flicking back toward the grand entrance. For a moment, he seemed to see beyond the opulence, into the rot that festered beneath the surface.

Then, with a curt nod to Lingaong Xuein, he strode forward, the squad following. Their figures disappeared into the curtain of rain, determination burning in their hearts even as the storm raged around them.

However, The rain fell relentlessly, the streets of Jai-Jun district shimmering under the faint glow of flickering neon signs. Shadows danced across the wet pavement, their shapes distorted by the puddles that mirrored the artificial light. The district's labyrinthine alleys, once teeming with the hum of nightlife, were now desolate save for the sound of water dripping from rusted gutters and the occasional hiss of steam escaping from vents. The atmosphere was oppressive, as if the city itself held its breath, anticipating the storm that was not from the heavens but from the confrontation unfolding.

Roy adjusted his coat, his sharp eyes scanning the street ahead, his boots splashing through shallow puddles. Beside him, Hella walked with deliberate steps, her posture taut like a bowstring, her gaze as sharp as a hawk's. The air carried an eerie stillness, broken only by the occasional crackle of thunder in the distance.

"Something's wrong," Hella murmured, her voice low yet tense, like the rumble before an earthquake.

They rounded a corner, and there, under the cold light of a malfunctioning streetlamp, stood two figures. One was a woman draped in a gothic, ritualistic outfit. Deep blacks, purples, and crimson tones swirled together, her attire exuding an aura of dark allure and violent promise. Her eyes glowed unnaturally, exuding an otherworldly dread, while an invisible energy, swirling and ominous, enveloped her like a second skin. The rain seemed to avoid her, as though fearful of her presence.

"You?" Hella's jaw tightened, her fists clenching instinctively.

The woman tilted her head, a cruel smile curling her lips, revealing teeth that seemed to glint like razors under the dim light.

"Cabernet Donella," Roy muttered, recognition dawning on his face. His voice carried a mix of disbelief and contempt.

"Ah, you remember," Cabernet purred, her voice as smooth and dark as velvet soaked in poison. "I'm touched, really. Though I didn't come here for nostalgia."

Cabernet's aura intensified, the shadows around her twisting and writhing as if alive. Tendrils of blood-red energy pulsed through the air, laced with the ominous hum of forbidden power.

"She's dangerous," Hella whispered, her hand inching toward her weapon.

"Dangerous doesn't begin to describe her," Roy replied, his voice steady but his eyes narrowing.

Before they could react further, two more figures emerged from the shadows, their presence commanding, their auras distinct. One wore a red jacket with an asymmetrical cut, her long trousers slit beneath her abdomen. Her grey crop top clung to her toned frame, and the intricate tattoo on her left shoulder seemed to pulse with its own rhythm. Her white hair was sharp and layered, reflecting her fierce demeanor, and her piercing gaze burned with fiery intensity.

"Bianca Heaney," Roy said, his voice edged with grim recognition. "Infernal Arc herself."

The second figure stood in stark contrast, her long, tailored dark coat shimmering faintly with silver accents and patterns reminiscent of frost. Beneath it, a sleek combat suit hinted at her readiness for violence. Her ash-blonde hair was tied in a loose braid, her piercing grey eyes reflecting a cold intellect that seemed to weigh and measure everything before her. Her presence was chilling, a living embodiment of winter's fury.

"And Cassia Großmanter," Roy continued, his tone laced with equal parts respect and unease. "Cryo Dominion."

*Bianca smirked, her hands sparking with electric-blue flames that illuminated the dark street. "You've got nowhere to run, heroes," she said, her voice a mix of mockery and menace. "This is our district now."

Cassia's cold gaze locked onto Roy and Hella, her voice as frigid as the air around her. "Resistance is futile. Surrender now, or you'll find yourself encased in ice before you can blink."

Hella stepped forward, her eyes blazing with defiance despite the odds. "We've faced worse than you," she spat, her voice a steel blade tempered by fury. "You won't scare us."

Cabernet laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally, as though it came from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Oh, darling," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock pity, "you haven't begun to understand fear."

The air grew heavy, the oppressive energy of the Sinners clashing with the unyielding resolve of their opponents. Roy and Hella stood their ground, their weapons drawn, their spirits unbroken despite the looming storm.

"Let's see if your bark matches your bite," Bianca growled, her flames roaring to life.

And with that, the night erupted into chaos, the battlefield illuminated by electric-blue fire, swirling shadows, and icy shards as the clash of titans began.

*Cabernet Donella she is the A-Rank Sinner whose ability is Crimson Covenant, corrupted and ritualistic essence. Her power harnesses a dark, forbidden energy that ties her to an eldritch force, allowing her to manipulate blood, shadows, and the life force of others to devastating effect. By this ability Cabernet can control her own blood or the blood of her enemies as a weapon, creating tendrils, blades, or barriers from it. The more blood spilled in her vicinity, the stronger she becomes, drawing power from the violence around her. Shadows around her become an extension of her will, manifesting as tendrils or constructs to entrap, restrain, or attack her enemies. She can disappear into shadows, reappearing elsewhere within their reach, making her elusive and unpredictable. Cabernet can siphon the life force of her victims through physical contact or by manipulating their blood remotely. This energy can heal her wounds or bolster her abilities temporarily. Weakness: Excessive use of her abilities drains her life force, leaving her vulnerable if she overextends. Bright light or purification energy can weaken or temporarily neutralize her shadow-based powers. Her connection to eldritch forces leaves her mentally vulnerable to manipulation or corruption, especially if severed from her power source.

*Bianca Heaney is an S-Rank Sinner, renowned for her ferocity and unrelenting resolve. Her appearance reflects a striking and rebellious persona, with her white hair, tattoos, and bold clothing choice highlighting her independence and disregard for convention. Bianca exudes a dangerous charisma, making her both feared and respected among her peers. Her ability is named Infernal Arc, which helps her to conjure and control flames at will, but her fire has a unique electric-blue hue, making it hotter and more destructive than conventional fire. She can shape these flames into weapons, shields, or waves of devastation. Her weakness excessive use of her powers can cause severe fatigue or burns to her own body, especially if the tattoo overloads with energy. Her flames, while immensely powerful, are vulnerable to water or certain elemental countermeasures. Bianca's reliance on her tattoo as a focal point means any damage to it could temporarily weaken or disrupt her abilities.

*Cassia Großmanter is an A-Rank Sinner known for her icy demeanor and unparalleled tactical mind. Her abilities revolve around subjugation and manipulation, making her a valuable asset to the Sinners. Despite her relatively lower rank compared to S-Ranks, she is feared for her precision and efficiency in combat and subterfuge. Ability name: Cryo Dominion which means she can generate and control ice, creating weapons, barriers, or sharp shards for ranged attacks. She can freeze objects or terrain, immobilizing her enemies or creating advantageous battle conditions. Her weakness is that her powers are heavily influenced by environmental conditions; warmer climates weaken her abilities. Prolonged use of her powers strains her body, causing frostbite-like symptoms on her skin. She struggles with teamwork due to her aloof nature, often acting independently.

The Wai-Young District of Fēnghuáng exuded an unsettling calm, the kind that hung in the air before a tempest's wrath. Neon signs flickered intermittently, casting distorted reflections onto the rain-slicked streets. The labyrinth of alleys carried an unnatural silence, broken only by the rhythmic patter of rain. Shadows danced with a sinister rhythm, their shapes twisted and exaggerated by the fractured light. The district, a place once brimming with vitality, now felt like a theatre for the macabre, its audience unseen but ever watchful.

Masud walked with deliberate caution, his every step a calculated measure against the chaos that the district seemed to promise. Beside him, Hecate moved like a wraith, her eyes scanning every corner with a hunter's precision. Her presence was taut with focus, her breath steady like the ticking of a clock that counted down to an inevitable confrontation.

Their measured pace halted as a sound pierced the rain-soaked air—a laugh, high-pitched and brimming with unhinged glee. It echoed unnaturally, bouncing off the narrow walls as if the city itself mocked them. From the shifting shadows ahead, a figure emerged.

The man's attire was a theatrical cacophony of chaos and lethality. His black and red armored coat shimmered faintly with shifting holographic symbols, as though reality itself bent to his will. The asymmetrical patterns on his outfit seemed almost alive, drawing the eye into their dissonant flow. A half-mask, carved into the visage of a jester's eternal grin, covered the right side of his face, leaving only one unnervingly calm dark brown eye visible. His other eye glowed faintly red, cybernetic and unblinking, a beacon of cold menace. In his hands, he toyed with throwing knives shaped like playing cards, their edges glinting like the promises of death. He twirled a collapsible cane, its movements hypnotic, his demeanor a volatile mix of playfulness and peril.

"Hah, look who decided to grace my stage," the man said, his voice a lilting melody of mockery.

"Joker," Hecate said, her voice devoid of amusement, her gaze steady. Her lips tightened into a thin line, her every muscle coiled like a predator ready to pounce.

But before she or Masud could act, another figure stepped forward, her presence an oppressive weight that made the very air seem to crackle and recoil. The woman's bodysuit shimmered with iridescent hues, its colors shifting between black, violet, and electric blue, as though the fabric was imbued with the cosmos itself. The alloy plates reinforcing her suit glinted with menace, and the glowing conduits pulsing along her frame gave the impression of a storm barely contained. A long, tattered cape flowed behind her, its arcane runes flickering faintly, like whispers of forgotten incantations. Her stark white hair cascaded down her shoulders, moving unnaturally as if alive, while her piercing silver-blue eyes glowed with an unsettling depth, promising destruction to those who dared challenge her. She carried no visible weapon, but with a crackling hum, twin energy scythes materialized from the conduits in her suit, their ethereal blades casting ghostly reflections.

"And Levylak," Hecate continued, her voice firm but edged with tension.

Levylak inclined her head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. It was not a gesture of warmth but a predator's recognition of worthy prey.

"You've walked into the wrong storm," Levylak said, her voice smooth yet charged with latent power. The air around her shimmered as the energy scythes crackled ominously, the rain seeming to sizzle and evaporate before touching her.

Masud shifted his stance, his hand resting on his weapon, his gaze unwavering despite the palpable dread that radiated from the two figures before him.

"We didn't come here for games," Masud said, his tone measured but resolute. "Move aside, or we'll make you."

Joker's laugh rang out again, sharper this time, as though the threat had only fueled his amusement.

"Oh, but you see," he said, spinning a knife between his fingers, "you're already part of the game. And in this act, there's no script for your survival."

The street seemed to darken, the neon lights flickering erratically as if even they recoiled from the unfolding tension. The rain, relentless in its descent, now felt like needles against the skin, sharp and intrusive.

Hecate stepped forward, her eyes blazing with unyielding resolve.

"If it's a game you want, Joker, we'll make sure it's your last act."

Levylak's smile widened, her scythes humming with intensified energy.

"Then let's see if you can dance in the storm."

The tension snapped like a taut wire, the stage set for chaos as the storm began to rage, not from the skies above, but from the clash of wills and powers below.

*Levylak Tinaos is an enigma even within the ranks of the Sinners. Known as "The Living Cataclysm," she is revered and feared for her overwhelming power and stoic demeanor. Her presence alone shifts the balance of any confrontation, and her ability to manipulate the battlefield with sheer destructive force cements her status as an apex warrior. Her ability is named Apocalypse Nexus which can create tears in space, summoning destructive energy from alternate dimensions. These rifts can devastate everything within their radius, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth. And uses the rifts both offensively and defensively, creating barriers or launching devastating attacks.

*Joker is a chaotic and unpredictable force within the Sinners. He embodies the essence of anarchy and misdirection, often using his cunning and theatrics to outmaneuver opponents. Despite his flamboyant nature, his abilities and combat style are precise, making him both a performer and a deadly adversary. His ability name: Pandemonium which can project lifelike holograms of himself or others to confuse and disorient opponents. These decoys can mimic his actions, making it nearly impossible to identify the real him during combat. Weakness is reliance on deception and illusions means he struggles against opponents who can see through them or rely on brute force. Prolonged use of Pandemonium drains his energy, reducing his agility and precision. His chaotic nature can make it difficult for him to work cohesively with his team.

Three places the five agents and two Sinners have face their opponents than they imagine. As seven of them shows their seriousness as their eyes give chills. Farhan contacts with Masud, Roy and Hecate and Hella to prepare they all nod for what they face

The district was a desolate labyrinth, the rain pounding against its cracked pavement in relentless torrents. Neon lights sputtered and blinked, casting erratic reflections onto the wet ground. A deathly silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Jun and Farhan stood side by side, their swords drawn, the polished steel gleaming despite the murk. Across from them, Deren Barnett tilted her head, her lips curling into a taunting smile as her voice resonated—a haunting melody that seemed to fracture reality itself. The air quivered as the vibrations of her ability, Echo Malafication, rippled outward, slicing through the rain like a symphony of destruction.

"Your dance ends here," she said, her voice laced with venom.

Beside her, Demon unsheathed his katana, its blade humming faintly with latent energy. His towering frame moved with calculated precision, his eyes burning with a wrath barely contained. "I'll carve you into nothingness," he growled, his voice a thunderclap that matched the storm overhead.

The clash began in an instant, steel meeting steel in a cacophony of sparks. Jun and Farhan moved with practiced synergy, their blades weaving an intricate pattern of defense and offense. But Deren's voice reverberated again, the sound waves distorting the air, forcing Jun to falter as his sword arm trembled.

"Don't lose focus!" Farhan barked, intercepting Demon's strike with a resounding clash, their blades locked in a deadly embrace. The force of the impact sent ripples through the puddles beneath them, the rain turning crimson as Demon's relentless assault pushed Farhan to the edge.

Deren leapt into the air, her voice amplifying into a crescendo that sent shards of sound crashing down like invisible daggers. Jun countered with a sweeping arc of his blade, the sheer force dissipating some of the assault, but not without leaving deep gashes across his coat. Farhan, in a desperate maneuver, parried another of Demon's brutal strikes, only to be caught off guard by a follow-up slash that grazed his side.

"This isn't just a fight," Jun muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. "It's a storm."

The rain fell heavier in Jai-Jun District, the streets illuminated by the eerie glow of dying streetlights. Hella and Roy faced Cabernet Donella, Bianca Heaney, and Cassia Großmanter, the three Sinners standing like avatars of chaos in the storm. Cabernet's eyes glowed crimson as she raised her hands, the blood pooling in the streets rising to form jagged tendrils under the power of her Crimson Covenant. Bianca stood beside her, her white hair plastered against her face as she conjured an electric-blue inferno that roared against the downpour, her Infernal Arc illuminating the battlefield. Cassia, the coldest of them all, smirked faintly as frost crept along the ground, her Cryo Dominion freezing the rain midair into sharp, crystalline shards.

"You're outmatched," Cabernet purred, her voice like a siren's call. "But by all means, struggle."

Roy stepped forward, his blade drawn, its edge gleaming in the unnatural light. "If it's a struggle you want," he said, his tone grim, "you'll find us more than accommodating."

Cabernet's blood tendrils lashed out, aiming to pierce Roy, but Hella intercepted with a perfectly timed strike of her blade, severing the tendrils in one fluid motion. Bianca roared, unleashing a wave of her infernal flames, the searing heat cutting through the rain and forcing Roy and Hella to retreat momentarily. Cassia took advantage of their momentary disarray, the temperature plummeting as she launched a barrage of ice spears toward Hella. Hella dodged deftly, but one spear grazed her shoulder, leaving frostbite in its wake.

"Focus on the fire first!" Hella shouted, swinging her blade in a wide arc to deflect another wave of Cabernet's blood tendrils.

Roy nodded, charging at Bianca with a ferocity that matched her flames. Their clash lit up the street, a dance of fire and steel as sparks flew with every strike. Meanwhile, Hella faced off against both Cabernet and Cassia, her movements sharp and precise as she fought to keep the blood and ice at bay.

The Wai-Young District was cloaked in shadow, the rain cascading in sheets that seemed to drown the city. Hecate and Masud stood amidst the deluge, their breaths steady despite the overwhelming presence before them. Levylak's eyes gleamed with cold malice, her Apocalypse Nexus warping the very air around her. The energy conduits on her suit pulsed rhythmically, her dual scythes materializing with an ominous hum. Joker, meanwhile, leaned casually against a lamppost, his jester's mask gleaming in the fractured light as he spun one of his playing card knives between his fingers.

"Welcome to the circus," Joker said, his voice lilting with cruel amusement. "You'll find no curtain call here."

Levylak didn't speak, but her aura spoke volumes. The air crackled with tension as she raised her scythes, their blades cutting through the rain like a hot knife through butter. Without warning, she lunged, her movements almost too fast to follow. Hecate barely managed to parry the strike, the impact sending shockwaves rippling through the puddles below.

Joker chuckled, flicking his wrist to release a flurry of knife-like playing cards that shimmered with holographic illusions. Masud dodged swiftly, but the illusions disoriented him, one knife grazing his arm before he countered with a well-placed shot from his sidearm. Joker evaded effortlessly, his movements a blend of theatrics and lethal precision.

"You'll need more than that to catch me, darling," Joker taunted, throwing another set of knives that exploded in bursts of light, momentarily blinding Masud.

Hecate gritted her teeth, her focus solely on Levylak. The scythes whirled around them in a deadly dance, each swing threatening to cleave her apart. But Hecate was unyielding, her blade moving in a blur as she deflected blow after blow, waiting for the right moment to counter.

"Masud, focus!" she called out, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Masud shook off the disorientation, his eyes locking onto Joker. "I'm on it," he muttered, his resolve hardening as he charged at the jester-like Sinner.

The storm raged on, the rain mingling with blood and sweat as the agents fought for survival against their relentless adversaries. Each clash was a symphony of chaos, a testament to the unyielding resolve of the SDF agents and the overwhelming power of the Sinners.

The night draped itself over Ai-Yaon District like a mourner's veil, the ceaseless rain weeping for the sins that had long scarred its desolate streets. Thunder growled in the heavens, casting fleeting bursts of silver light upon the narrow alleyways. Agent-90 moved with a deliberateness that bespoke both confidence and foreboding, his polished boots splashing softly in the growing puddles. The faint glow of neon signs overhead reflected on his rain-slicked spectacles, his sharp blue eyes glinting like twin shards of ice beneath their lenses.

The alleyway whispered with unease, the rain's patter broken by the murmur of a voice that slithered from the shadows, curling like smoke in the damp air. He paused, his gloved fingers adjusting his spectacles, the gesture as mechanical as the tick of a clock. The rain washed over his stoic visage, streaking down the contours of his face like liquid sorrow, but his composure remained unwavering, statuesque amidst the cacophony of nature's fury.

From the ink-black recesses of the alley, a figure emerged. Zoyah, clad in darkness and menace, her blade gleaming in the intermittent flashes of lightning, stepped forward. The way she held her weapon bespoke a predatory grace, her every movement as precise and deliberate as a needle threading silk. "You walk these streets like you own them," she murmured, her voice low and sharp, cutting through the rain like a knife.

Behind him, the sound of measured footsteps announced another presence. Adela stepped into the dim light, her long scissor blade glinting with a ghostly hue of dark blue, its jagged edge a harbinger of unspoken violence. Her expression, cool and detached, carried the weight of inevitability, as though the outcome of this confrontation had already been written in some bloodied ledger.

To his right, Bai-Yu emerged like a spectre, her blade raised, its edge a whisper of death against the rain-soaked air. She approached with the composure of one accustomed to dealing finality, her steps silent despite the pooling water beneath her feet.

On his left, Rahu slinked forward, her clawed hands catching the lightning's glow, the metallic sheen like a predator's fang poised to strike. Her gaze burned with feral intensity, her lips curled in a predatory smirk that dared him to move.

From the periphery of his vision, more figures coalesced like shadows drawn to the void. Bloodhound's towering silhouette loomed, his jagged weapon resting idly on his shoulder as if savouring the inevitability of carnage. Venom appeared next, her presence seeping malevolence, her stance coiled and ready to strike. Behind her, Demolia stood with an air of volatility, her every breath seeming to vibrate with untamed energy. Finally, Ravok approached, his smirk a mask of arrogance, his weapon gleaming wickedly under the storm's relentless gaze.

Agent-90 remained motionless, his head tilting slightly, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the noose tightening around him. The thunder cracked overhead, illuminating the faces of his adversaries in stark, fleeting detail. For a moment, the rain seemed to hush, the world holding its breath in the face of an impending storm far more violent than nature's fury.

Without a word, he reached up, straightening his spectacles once more, the simple gesture pregnant with defiance. In the flickering light, the faintest smirk ghosted across his lips—a phantom of amusement, perhaps, or a subtle challenge to the gathering storm around him. The rain fell harder, the thunder rolled louder, and the alley seemed to shrink, every drop of water striking the ground like a war drum's beat.

The stage was set.

Meanwhile, The relentless downpour continued to shroud the battlefield in gloom, the clash of steel echoing through the narrow streets. Farhan's breathing grew heavy as he parried another devastating blow from Demon, the sheer force of the attack pushing him back. The puddles beneath them rippled violently, crimson streaks mixing with rainwater—a grim testament to the battle's toll.

Jun, though battered, moved like a shadow, his blade weaving through Deren's sound waves with uncanny precision. But her Echo Malafication reverberated once more, the sonic energy exploding outward in a cacophony that sent him sprawling. Farhan lunged at Demon in retaliation, his sword slicing through the rain to land a deep gash across the towering Sinner's chest. Demon staggered, clutching the wound, his katana falling momentarily limp.

"You're strong," Demon snarled, his voice a rumble of grudging respect. "But strength won't save you."

"Perhaps not," Farhan retorted, his blade gleaming as he charged again, "but skill will."

Deren, enraged by Demon's injury, unleashed a harrowing scream that distorted reality itself. Jun, recovering from his fall, pressed forward, his blade cutting through the sound waves with sheer determination. With a sudden feint, he closed the gap, his sword slicing across Deren's shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain. She staggered back, her melody faltering.

As Demon prepared for another assault, Farhan and Jun exchanged a nod. Together, they pressed their advantage. Farhan disarmed Demon with a swift strike, his katana clattering to the ground, while Jun delivered a decisive blow to Deren, her weapon tumbling from her grasp. Both Sinners, now wounded and cornered, glared at their adversaries with venomous defiance before retreating into the shadows.

The rain transformed the battlefield into a canvas of chaos, blood and water swirling together in dark rivulets. Hella and Roy fought with unyielding resolve, their blades flashing like lightning against the storm. Cabernet Donella, her eyes blazing with fury, summoned a surge of blood tendrils that lashed out wildly. Hella met them head-on, her sword a blur as she severed the crimson appendages one by one.

Bianca, meanwhile, unleashed a torrent of electric-blue flames that roared through the rain, evaporating water and setting the ground alight. Roy moved swiftly, his blade slicing through the inferno, creating a protective arc around him and Hella. "You're losing your touch," he quipped, dodging another fiery onslaught.

Cassia Großmanter, observing her comrades falter, stepped forward, her icy demeanour matched by her lethal precision. With a wave of her hand, she conjured jagged spears of ice that rained down upon Hella and Roy. Hella rolled to evade, the shards narrowly missing her, while Roy countered with a fierce upward slash, shattering the ice into harmless fragments.

"You won't walk away unscathed," Cassia hissed, lunging at Hella with an ice-forged blade. But Hella sidestepped, her sword finding its mark as it grazed Cassia's arm, drawing blood. The frost-wielding Sinner grimaced, clutching the wound as she staggered back.

Bianca, desperate to turn the tide, overextended herself, summoning a massive wave of flames. Roy seized the opportunity, his blade cutting through the inferno and slicing into her side. She cried out, collapsing to one knee. Cabernet, now visibly drained from her exertions, called her blood tendrils back to shield her allies.

"This isn't over," Cabernet spat, her voice a venomous promise. With a final, defiant glare, the three Sinners retreated into the storm, their injuries slowing their escape.

The air was thick with tension and the acrid scent of ozone, the rain failing to wash away the oppressive atmosphere. Levylak moved like a wraith, her twin scythes carving arcs of energy that illuminated the darkness. Hecate matched her step for step, her blade ringing out as it clashed with the deadly weapons. Sparks flew, the ground beneath them cracking from the sheer force of their strikes.

Masud faced Joker, the jester-like Sinner darting unpredictably, his holographic decoys flickering around him. Masud's sharp eyes pierced the illusions, his bullets finding their mark as one grazed Joker's shoulder. The Sinner stumbled, his grin faltering for the first time as he clutched the wound.

"You're not so untouchable," Masud growled, advancing with deadly intent.

Hecate, meanwhile, exploited a momentary lapse in Levylak's defence, her blade slicing across the Sinner's thigh. Levylak snarled in pain, the energy conduits on her suit flickering as she staggered back. "You'll regret that," she hissed, her voice crackling with malice.

Joker, desperate to turn the tide, hurled a barrage of explosive cards at Masud. But the agent weaved through them, closing the distance and delivering a swift strike with the butt of his rifle, sending Joker sprawling. Levylak, now cornered, summoned a final burst of energy, her scythes slashing wildly in a last-ditch effort. Hecate deflected the strikes with calculated precision, her blade finding its mark as it pierced Levylak's shoulder.

"This is where your chaos ends," Hecate said coldly, her voice like steel.

Levylak and Joker, battered and bleeding, exchanged a glance before retreating into the shadows, their forms swallowed by the rain.

As the rain began to subside, the agents regrouped, their breaths laboured but their resolve unbroken. The streets of Fēnghuáng, though scarred by the battles, stood as a testament to their victory. Each agent bore injuries, but their determination shone through as they prepared for what lay ahead. The Sinners had been wounded, their plans disrupted, but the war was far from over.

The rain fell in relentless torrents, an unbroken curtain of liquid night that veiled the desolate Ai-Yaon District. Thunder roared above, each strike of lightning briefly illuminating the soaked cobblestones and the jagged silhouettes of the alleyway's twisted architecture. The stage was set for an encounter that would etch itself into the annals of whispered legend.

Agent-90 stood alone in the centre of the narrow passage, his figure silhouetted against the erratic glow of a distant streetlamp. His coat clung to him, soaked and heavy, yet his stance betrayed no fatigue. His blue eyes gleamed behind rain-specked spectacles, their icy resolve unbroken.

The shadows stirred, coalescing into figures as Zoyah stepped forward, her blade glinting menacingly in her grasp. Behind her, Adela, Bai-Yu, Rahu, Bloodhound, Venom, Demolia, and Ravok emerged, their movements predatory, their expressions dripping with malice. The air thickened with tension, the rain itself seeming to pause in anticipation.

With a single, mocking grin, Ravok darted first, his chaotic swipes aimed at Agent-90's head. The infamous assassin moved like smoke, his blade drawn in a flash, deflecting the strikes with an artistry that bordered on divine. In the same motion, he brought out his gun, a sleek weapon that roared to life as he shot at Ravok's feet, sending the assailant stumbling.

The others surged forward, a cacophony of steel and shadow. Agent-90 twisted, parrying Zoyah's blade with precision, his gun discharging in calculated bursts that forced Adela to retreat momentarily. As Rahu's claws raked toward his side, he spun and brought his blade down, sparks flying as steel met steel.

Bloodhound came from his left, his twin hatchets aiming to cleave Agent-90 apart. With preternatural reflexes, the agent flipped over a nearby pipe, using it to leverage his landing directly onto Ravok. His boots slammed into the man's back with a force that sent him sprawling face-first into a puddle.

"Is this all the famed Sinners have to offer?" Agent-90 sneered, his voice like cold steel.

Adela seized the moment, lunging with her scissor blade, its jagged edges shimmering in the storm's light. Agent-90 caught the weapon with both hands, his fingers gripping the blade's edges despite the sharp pain. She strained to expand the scissor's lethal maw, but his unyielding strength kept it locked.

Rahu and Bai-Yu moved in tandem, their blades finding purchase along his waist, drawing deep, crimson lines. The assassin staggered, his coat torn and stained with blood, yet his expression remained defiant, a tempest contained within flesh.

The battle turned into a maelstrom, each movement precise yet chaotic, each strike a symphony of violence. Agent-90 moved with the lethality of a predator and the grace of a dancer. His blade sang, cutting through the rain, while his gun barked thunderous defiance.

The toll of the fight began to show. Blood pooled at his feet, his breaths growing laboured. As he knelt, Zoyah approached, her blade poised for the final strike. "Surrender, legend," she spat, her voice laced with triumph.

But before her blade could descend, a crimson shackle materialised in the air, glowing with an unearthly light. It coiled around her weapon and yanked it aside. The air grew colder, heavier, as Wen-Li stepped into the scene, her presence a storm within the storm. Her squad followed, their weapons drawn and aimed with deadly precision.

"That's quite enough," Wen-Li commanded, her voice slicing through the chaos like a clarion call.

The Sinners hesitated, exchanging glances. Fighting Wen-Li's squad and the relentless Agent-90 was a battle they were not prepared to win. One by one, they faded into the shadows, their retreat as quiet as their arrival had been menacing.

Agent-90 sat silently, blood pooling around him as the rain continued its relentless assault. Wen-Li approached cautiously, her eyes softening as she took in the state of the man who had once been an unyielding force. She knelt beside him, her arms encircling his head with a warmth that defied the storm.

"Stay with me," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She turned to her team. "Call an ambulance! Now!"

As Agent Jun and Farhan arrived, they helped lift the unconscious Agent-90, his weight sagging as his strength gave way. Together, they carried him to their vehicle, the rain mixing with the blood that painted his tattered coat.

Unbeknownst to them, a figure lingered in the shadows, his eyes tracking their every move. Kenji, his expression inscrutable, whispered into his comms, "He's down. I'm following them, I need to Inform Gavriel."

The storm roared once more as the vehicles sped away, leaving the empty alleyway to swallow the remnants of the battle, a silent witness to the legend's near fall.

At the summit of the monolithic SCP Tower, Gavriel stood, his silhouette framed against the sprawling cityscape of Fēnghuáng. The rain cascaded in relentless veils, painting the windows with streaks of liquid silver, each droplet a ghostly echo of the storm's fury. Lightning fractured the obsidian sky, casting fleeting, jagged illuminations over the labyrinthine streets below. Gavriel's presence was statuesque, his dark coat immaculately tailored and untouched by the storm raging just beyond the glass.

His hands rested behind his back, fingers interlocked with the poise of a calculating king. Blue veins of light pulsed along the tower walls, the heartbeat of technology coursing through its foundation. He gazed upon the city as if it were a living chessboard, its denizens mere pawns under his omnipotent scrutiny.

The silence was broken by the sharp vibration of his comms device. Gavriel tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk as he accepted the call. The voice of Kenji, raspy yet resolute, echoed through the speaker.

"Sir," Kenji began, his tone strained with urgency, "the target is down. Agent-90... he's gravely wounded. Wen-Li and her team intervened, saved him from Zoyah and her lot. They're taking him—unknown location for now. Should I proceed?"

Gavriel's eyes narrowed, the amusement in his expression giving way to a predatory seriousness. His gloved fingers tapped the steel railing before him with meticulous rhythm, each tap a silent note of deliberation.

"Agent-90, wounded and at their mercy," Gavriel murmured, the words dripping with equal parts intrigue and disdain. "How poetic. The titan kneels, yet the endgame unfolds anew."

Kenji remained silent, awaiting further instruction.

"Follow them," Gavriel ordered, his voice suddenly sharp, a blade unsheathing itself in the darkness. "Wherever they go, you go. Do not engage. Observe. Report. And, Kenji," his tone shifted to one of wicked delight, "do not disappoint me. I would hate to lose a knight on this board prematurely."

"Understood," Kenji replied curtly before the line went dead.

Gavriel turned away from the glass, his figure a shadow against the flickering neon of the city below. His lips stretched into a broader smile, one of malevolent excitement, as if the storm itself fed his hunger for chaos.

"Let the rain cleanse the weak," he muttered to himself, pacing toward the command console at the centre of the room, "and let their desperation be my theatre."

The room hummed with power as holographic screens materialised around him, each displaying feeds of the city's districts. He traced a finger across one of the screens, zeroing in on the coordinates Kenji had mentioned. The thrill of the hunt was palpable, coursing through his veins like a drug.

Beyond the tower, the storm intensified, its thunder reverberating like the prelude to an orchestra of destruction. Gavriel's laughter echoed within the chamber, a sound as cold and cutting as the lightning that illuminated the city. The game was far from over, and he intended to play it to the bitter end.

Rain battered the car's windscreen with unrelenting ferocity, the rhythmic thrumming a cruel accompaniment to the tension within. Agent Farhan gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening under the strain, his eyes darting between the sodden road ahead and the reflection in the rear-view mirror—the spectre of a black car trailing ominously in the distance.

Beside him, Agent Jun lounged with feigned nonchalance, though his hand rested on the hilt of a concealed blade. Behind them, Wen-Li cradled the bloodied and unconscious Agent-90, her gaze never leaving his pale, rain-dappled face. Nightingale, Lan Qian, and Demitin sat rigid, their blindfolded eyes and gagged mouths rendering them helpless and silenced.

"Where are you taking us?" Nightingale demanded, her voice muffled but resolute.

"To the Crimson Lotus," Jun replied with a glib smile, the smugness in his tone unmistakable.

"You—!" Nightingale began, but Jun cut her short, securing her gag tighter. "Such insolence. It's almost endearing."

Farhan cast Jun a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk. "What are you looking at?" Jun snapped, irritated by the silent amusement.

"Just admiring your... charming diplomacy," Farhan replied, his tone dry as the desert. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression darkening as the black car in the rear-view mirror drew closer. He activated his comm, speaking in hushed urgency.

"Masud, Roy, are you in position? We've got a tail—a black sedan, two clicks back," he said, his voice steady but laden with gravitas.

Masud's voice crackled over the line. "We see it. Roy's warming the engine. I'm zooming in now."

From their vehicle parked under the shadow of a dimly lit overpass, Masud lifted his binoculars, the lenses glinting faintly in the storm's sporadic lightning. He focused on the shadowy figure behind the wheel of the trailing car and exhaled sharply. "It's Kenji. That snake's persistent."

Roy's hands tightened on the wheel of their vehicle. "We deal with him now," he said, his voice low and edged with steel. He ignited the engine with a rumble that echoed through the rain-soaked air. Hecate and Hella sat ready, their weapons gleaming faintly under the dim light.

"Move out," Farhan commanded through the comm.

Roy's car roared to life, its tyres splashing through puddles as it merged onto the road, now a predator seeking its quarry. The two cars weaved through the wet streets, the city's neon lights blurring into streaks of colour as the chase began.

Farhan's eyes flickered to the black car behind them. "They're closing in," he said tersely.

Roy's voice cut in over the comm. "Not for long."

As the black car drew closer, its headlights cutting through the gloom like twin blades, Roy's vehicle surged forward, sliding into position behind Kenji's car. The hunter had become the hunted.

Kenji, realising he was being tailed, swerved abruptly, his car fishtailing on the slick pavement. Masud leaned out of the window, a pistol in hand, firing precise shots at Kenji's tyres. Sparks flew as one bullet grazed the metal, but the tyres held firm.

"He's slippery," Masud muttered, narrowing his eyes.

Kenji retaliated, his car veering dangerously close to Farhan's. A side window lowered, and a barrel emerged, spitting bullets that ricocheted off the armoured panels of Farhan's vehicle.

"Hold steady!" Farhan barked, gripping the wheel tightly as he manoeuvred to avoid the spray of gunfire.

Jun unfastened his seatbelt, readying himself. "Keep it steady, mate. I'll handle this."

Farhan's jaw tightened, but he obeyed, his focus unwavering. Jun climbed out through the passenger window, his blade glinting ominously in the rain. With a powerful leap, he landed atop Kenji's car, the force of impact denting the roof.

Kenji swerved violently, trying to shake him off, but Jun held firm, driving his blade into the metal for stability. He peered through the windscreen, meeting Kenji's startled gaze with a wicked grin.

"Hello, mate. Fancy a chat?" Jun quipped before plunging his blade through the roof, narrowly missing Kenji.

At that moment, Roy's car pulled alongside, and Hella leaned out, her rifle aimed at Kenji's rear tyre. One shot rang out, and the tyre exploded, sending Kenji's car skidding uncontrollably.

Kenji's car spun out, coming to a jarring halt against a streetlight. Jun leapt off, landing gracefully on the wet pavement. He approached the wreckage with calculated steps, his blade at the ready.

The doors of Kenji's car burst open, and he stumbled out, bloodied but defiant. "You lot think you've won?" he snarled.

Roy and Masud exited their vehicle, weapons drawn. "You're outnumbered, Kenji," Masud said coldly.

Kenji smirked despite his injuries, his eyes flickering with malice. "This isn't over." He pressed a hidden button on his wrist, and an explosion erupted in the distance—an ominous distraction.

Farhan's voice crackled through the comm. "Abort pursuit! We've got to move before reinforcements arrive."

Jun sheathed his blade, stepping back. "Next time, Kenji," he said with a grin that promised retribution.

As the agents regrouped and their cars sped off into the rain, Kenji watched, a grim smile playing on his lips. The game was far from over.

The door to the dimly lit basement creaked open, the metallic groan resonating like a lamentation of the damned. Heavy footsteps descended the stone staircase, each echo reverberating through the oppressive silence. Yuan Meiling appeared, her figure an imposing silhouette against the faint glow of a single overhead bulb. She moved with deliberate slowness, her heels clicking against the cold floor, a dirge marking the inevitable doom that awaited the hapless man chained before her.

Ferro hung limply from the iron shackles that bit cruelly into his wrists, his body marred by a tapestry of dried blood, fresh lacerations, and darkened bruises. His chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, the air tasting of copper and despair. The once-defiant glint in his eyes had dulled, replaced by the weight of broken pride and relentless agony.

Yuan Meiling approached with a glacial air of authority, her expression an unyielding mask of cold disdain. Her slender fingers brushed against the coiled spike-laden rope at her side—a serpent eager to strike. She circled him slowly, her presence suffocating, her heels clicking like the tolling of a death knell.

"You've made a spectacle of your incompetence," she began, her voice as frigid as the chains that bound him. "The infamous agent still breathes. You dare bring dishonour upon our name?"

Ferro managed a hoarse gasp, attempting to form words, but Yuan Meiling cut him off with a sharp flick of the spiked rope. It tore through the air with a malevolent whistle before biting into his back, ripping skin and leaving jagged, crimson lines in its wake.

He screamed, the sound raw and guttural, but Yuan Meiling remained impassive. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, bore into him like twin shards of ice.

"Silence your pitiful cries," she commanded, her tone devoid of pity. "You will endure this lesson."

The rope descended again, and again, each strike punctuated by her methodical steps. Blood splattered across the cold stone floor, pooling beneath Ferro's trembling body. Each lash was a verdict, a sentence passed by her merciless hands.

When at last she paused, her chest rose and fell with the exertion of her fury, though her face betrayed no emotion. She seized his hair, wrenching his head upward, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her cold, dark eyes were devoid of compassion, mirrors reflecting his abject failure.

"This is your final chance," she hissed, her breath brushing against his blood-streaked face like the whisper of death itself. "If you cannot extinguish the agent, then you will take the life of the Chief of the SSCBF. Succeed, or you will beg for death as the kinder alternative to what awaits you."

She released his hair with a forceful shove, and he slumped forward, the chains rattling like a mournful dirge. She turned on her heel and ascended the stairs, her footsteps fading into the oppressive silence, leaving Ferro to drown in his torment.

Above, the door slammed shut, plunging the basement into darkness once more, where the echoes of his anguish lingered, a haunting melody in the grim theatre of failure.

The rain fell in relentless torrents upon the SSCBF Headquarters, each drop a lament that joined the cacophony of distant thunderclaps. Lightning split the heavens, illuminating the sombre facade of the building as if nature itself conspired to bear witness to the storm brewing within.

A convoy of vehicles screeched to a halt outside, tyres splashing through puddles that mirrored the grim skies above. Captain Robert emerged first, his boots striking the ground with a ferocity that echoed his mood. His face was a mask of barely contained rage, his fists clenched at his sides as if the tempest within him rivaled the one outside.

"Damn their arrogance!" he roared, his voice cutting through the downpour like a blade. He stormed forward, his coat billowing behind him, a spectre of fury. Captain Lingaong Xuein rushed after him, her tone placating, yet firm.

"Robert, control yourself!" she implored, her hand catching his shoulder. "This is not the place nor the time!"

But Robert spun to face her, his eyes ablaze with indignation. "Not the time? When is it ever the time? While the SCP obscures the truth and hinders our investigation? While Elan keeps us in the dark?"

Behind them, Tao-Ren, Sakim, and Daishoji exited their vehicles, their expressions a blend of curiosity and caution. The tension hung thick in the air, more stifling than the oppressive storm clouds above.

As Robert advanced towards the main entrance, a crowd began to gather. Officers, staff members, and even fresh recruits clustered under awnings and near doorways, their murmurs blending with the rain. Among them stood Yuzuriha, Yuri, and Karin, their faces etched with concern.

"He's losing his composure again," Yuzuriha muttered, her arms crossed. "It's rare to see him like this."

Yuri nodded, her gaze fixed on the unfolding scene. "When Captain's fury is kindled, it burns bright. Something must have provoked him beyond reason."

Karin, ever the pragmatist, sighed deeply. "It's not just fury—it's worry. He wouldn't be this volatile if he didn't sense something deeply wrong."

At that moment, the imposing figure of Commander Krieg emerged from the building, his steps measured, his expression unreadable. The thunder growled again, as if heralding his arrival. He approached with an air of authority that silenced the murmuring crowd.

"Captain Robert," Krieg's voice was firm, yet calm, cutting through the rain like a beacon. "What is the meaning of this outburst?"

Robert turned sharply, the fire in his eyes meeting the commander's calm, steady gaze. "The SCP is playing a dangerous game, Commander. They're withholding information critical to our case, obstructing justice at every turn! I cannot stand idly by while they toy with us!"

Krieg raised a hand, his commanding presence instantly quelling the rising tension. "Your concerns are valid, Captain, but this is not the forum for such grievances. Let us discuss this matter privately in my office."

Robert hesitated, his chest heaving as he fought to rein in his anger. At last, with a reluctant nod, he turned towards the building, his fury momentarily subdued. Krieg gestured for Lingaong Xuein to follow, her presence a silent reassurance.

As the trio disappeared inside, the crowd began to disperse, the storm above seeming to relent slightly, though the atmosphere remained heavy with unspoken unease. Yuzuriha, Yuri, and Karin exchanged knowing glances.

"This isn't over," Yuri murmured, her voice barely audible above the fading rain.

"No," Yuzuriha agreed. "It's only just begun."

And as the thunder rumbled one final time, its echo seemed to foretell the battles yet to come.

The storm raged over the Black Castle, a monolithic structure that seemed to defy time itself. Rain lashed its gothic spires, cascading like liquid silver down weathered stone. Lightning forked across the ink-black sky, momentarily illuminating the castle's foreboding silhouette. Within its labyrinthine halls, where silence reigned supreme save for the occasional growl of thunder, Zoyah made her way with measured steps.

Her boots echoed against the obsidian floor, each footfall swallowed by the oppressive darkness. She pushed open the grand oak doors of the chamber—a cavernous room where shadows writhed like living entities. At its heart sat their enigmatic leader, shrouded in the heavy folds of a Victorian gown. The garment was an intricate tapestry of black velvet and lace, adorned with faintly glimmering jewels that seemed to drink the dim light. Her face remained obscured, veiled in shadow, though her presence was an oppressive weight that bore down on all who dared approach.

Zoyah knelt, her head bowed low, the raindrops clinging to her cloak like beads of crystal. "My Lady," she began, her voice steady but reverent. "I come bearing news of the task entrusted to us."

The figure leaned forward slightly, her hands emerging from the shadows, pale and skeletal, adorned with rings that seemed to pulse faintly with an eldritch glow. "Speak," came her voice, low and resonant, like the tolling of a distant bell. "I trust your report bears no failure?"

Zoyah hesitated for a heartbeat, then rose to her feet, her gaze fixed firmly on the void where her leader's face should have been. "The task to eliminate Agent-90 was nearly accomplished. We lured him to the depths of Ai-Yaon District under the cover of night. There, with precision, we ambushed him—Adela, Bai-Yu, Rahu, and myself, joined by the Bloodhound, Venom, Demolia, and Ravok."

She paused, her tone sharpening. "The infamous legend fought with ferocity, My Lady. He wielded both blade and gun with a skill that bordered on the inhuman. Even as our numbers overwhelmed him, he carved through us like a tempest unleashed, his movements as precise and relentless as the storm outside."

The leader's hands clenched the arms of her chair, the faint glow of her rings intensifying. "And yet he lives," she said, her voice a dagger cloaked in velvet.

Zoyah's jaw tightened, her fists curling at her sides. "We had him, My Lady. He bled, wounded from the strikes of Rahu and Bai-Yu. He was on his knees, his strength faltering. But as I moved to deliver the final blow, Chief Wen-Li of the SSCBF intervened. She arrived with her squad, disrupting our victory."

Thunder growled in the distance, a mirror to the tension that hung heavy in the chamber. The leader tilted her head, a movement barely perceptible but laden with menace. "And you allowed this interruption to undo our efforts?"

"No, My Lady," Zoyah responded quickly, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of that unseen gaze. "We fought to hold our ground, but their forces were too strong. Their arrival forced us to retreat to preserve our resources and await your next command."

The leader rose slowly from her throne, her gown flowing like liquid night. She stepped forward, the shadows clinging to her like a second skin. Lightning illuminated her silhouette briefly, revealing the faint glint of a dagger in her hand.

"Zoyah," she intoned, her voice carrying the weight of an impending storm. "Failure is not merely a setback—it is an affront to the order I have built. Wen-Li's meddling is unacceptable, but your inability to counter her presence borders on insubordination."

Zoyah sank to her knees once more, her head bowing deeply. "My Lady, grant me another chance, and I shall not fail. The Chief's interference was unforeseen, but next time, we will anticipate her every move."

The leader stood over her, the dagger's edge gleaming faintly as she considered the plea. "You speak of next time as if it is promised. Prove to me that you still possess value."

With that, she turned away, her form dissolving back into the shadows. Her final words lingered like the chill of death itself. "You have one final opportunity, Zoyah. Succeed, or face my wrath. Now leave me."

Zoyah rose shakily, retreating from the chamber with a bowed head. Outside, the rain fell heavier still, a dirge for the battle yet to come.

The rain pelted against the tall windows of Commander Krieg's office, its relentless rhythm a mournful symphony that mirrored the tension within. Thunder growled in the distance, a guttural warning of the tempest brewing both outside and within the room. The chamber was austere, its walls adorned with accolades of service and maps of Nin-Ran-Gi, illuminated faintly by the flickering glow of a single desk lamp.

Captain Robert stood rigid, his face a tempest of fury and indignation. His soaked coat dripped onto the hardwood floor, a testament to his hasty arrival. Krieg leaned back in his chair, his sharp blue eyes locked onto Robert, who slammed his fist on the table.

"This is a travesty!" Robert's voice thundered, nearly rivaling the storm outside. "We were stopped—obstructed—from carrying out the investigation. Five minutes was not even over, and yet Elan and Shira, along with their officers, had the audacity to halt us!"

Krieg folded his hands slowly, his demeanour measured but his brow furrowed. "Calm yourself, Robert. What precisely did they impede you from uncovering?"

Robert leaned forward, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. "The President's mansion, Krieg. The living room—there were plasters affixed to the walls, strategically placed as if to conceal something. We were moments away from removing them when they barred us."

Captain Lingaong Xuein, standing nearby with her arms crossed, chimed in with a calm yet steely voice. "They claimed it was for the integrity of the scene, but it reeks of subterfuge. We noted irregularities—patterns within the plaster, faint markings like coded symbols. It was no ordinary patchwork, Commander."

Krieg turned his steely gaze to Lingaong Xuein, his voice low and deliberate. "And your assessment during the investigation, Captain?"

She nodded. "The markings suggested something concealed, perhaps documents or devices. It was deliberate—an attempt to bury secrets within the walls themselves. Yet their insistence to stop us…" She trailed off, her brow creasing. "It raises questions, Commander. Questions we're not being permitted to answer."

A knock interrupted the mounting tension. Krieg's piercing voice rang out. "Enter."

The door creaked open, revealing Kuroki, who stepped inside with his typical precision. His expression was unreadable as he addressed Robert. "Captain Robert, the President has summoned you to his office."

Robert's eyes widened, his brows knitting in confusion. "Who is the President, right now?" His voice carried an undercurrent of disbelief.

Kuroki, unflinching, nodded and left as quickly as he'd arrived. Robert turned back to Krieg, his voice sharper now. "Answer me, Krieg. Who sits in that office?"

For a moment, Krieg remained silent, the weight of the question pressing against him like a millstone. Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy. "President Zhang Wei."

Robert let out a scoff, then a bitter laugh. "Zhang Wei? Ridiculous! How does a new election occur mere moments after Song Luoyang's death? And why are we left in the dark?"

Lingaong Xuein, equally incredulous, folded her arms tightly. "The timeline doesn't add up, Commander. And where is the Chief in all of this?"

Krieg sighed, stepping to the window. Lightning flashed, illuminating the creases of his weathered face. "Chief Wen-Li is investigating the Gon-Whiel Orphanage, alongside Nightingale, Lan Qian, and Demitin."

"Gon-Whiel?" Lingaong Xuein's voice held a note of surprise. "What's there?"

Krieg turned back to face them. "It's about Agent-90. She's investigating his origins, attempting to unearth what even he doesn't know about himself."

Robert's fists clenched. "And does the Chief know who's orchestrating this circus? Who placed that svoloch' (bastard) in the President's seat?"

"Robert, mind your tongue," Krieg snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "You forget yourself."

Lingaong Xuein shook her head, muttering under her breath. "Even as ruthless as he is, Zhang Wei is not fit to lead."

"That is enough," Krieg said firmly, his hand resting on Robert's shoulder as he sought to steady the captain's seething rage. "I understand your grief, Robert. Song Luoyang's death is a wound we all feel, as is the loss of Chief Wen-Luo and Lieutenant Ren-Li before him. But this chaos demands our discipline, not our despair."

Robert nodded reluctantly, the fire in his eyes dimming as he left the room, his boots echoing down the corridor. Lingaong Xuein offered a curt nod before following him.

Alone at last, Krieg moved to the window, his reflection staring back at him as rain streaked the glass. His thoughts were a torrent of uncertainty, tangled threads of doubt and fear. How deep does this conspiracy run? Is the organisation fracturing under the weight of its secrets? The storm outside mirrored the tempest within him, each flash of lightning illuminating the sprawling cities of Nin-Ran-Gi like fleeting truths amidst an ocean of lies.

As the thunder roared and the rain fell in relentless sheets, Krieg's jaw tightened. This is not merely a storm to weather—it is a reckoning to survive.

Wen-Li's eyes flickered open, her vision adjusting to the oppressive gloom. The room was suffocatingly dark, save for the faint, wavering glow of a lone candle placed at its centre. Its light danced upon the damp stone walls, casting elongated shadows that seemed alive. She flexed her fingers instinctively, finding them bound by rough rope to the arms of the chair. Beside her, Nightingale, Lan Qian, and Demitin stirred, their heads heavy as if drugged.

From the darkness came the resonant echo of deliberate footsteps, the cadence striking a cold rhythm. A voice followed—smooth, commanding, and unmistakably familiar. Wen-Li's chest tightened as her mind scrambled to place it.

The figure stepped into the candlelight. Madam Di-Xian. Draped in flowing robes of black and crimson, her presence was regal and unnerving. The shadows fell across her face, revealing only the curve of a smirk and eyes that glinted with predatory sharpness. Her aura, thick and imposing, seemed to compress the air in the room.

"You look familiar!" Nightingale's voice cut through the silence, strained yet resolute.

Madam Di-Xian turned her head with eerie precision, her expression unreadable. "It's been a long time, Ying Zheo Lin," she said coolly, her words laced with the venom of old memories.

"Madam!" Nightingale's voice cracked with surprise, the word reverberating off the walls. Her body tensed, her bound hands pulling at the ropes as though they might snap under sheer will.

Lan Qian and Demitin exchanged incredulous glances, their gazes then snapping to Wen-Li, who sat unnervingly composed despite the tension in the air.

Madam Di-Xian moved fluidly, lowering herself into an ornate chair near the candle, crossing her legs with the grace of a queen presiding over her court. "I heard from Gonda that you've been sniffing around Gon-Whiel Orphanage," she began, her voice calm yet laden with accusation. "Curious, isn't it? Digging into the roots of my agent."

Her lips curled into a faint smile, but her eyes were as sharp as blades. "Ah, and my condolences for the loss of President Song Luoyang," she said with mock solemnity, her tone betraying no genuine sorrow. "The people are livid, blaming Agent-90 for his death, though…" she paused, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper, "...we both know someone's trying to frame him."

Wen-Li's eyes narrowed, but her voice remained steady. "I've felt the same. But tell me, what of Agent-90? What condition is he in?"

Madam Di-Xian smirked, clapping her hands twice. The sound reverberated like a judge's gavel. From the shadows came the heavy march of boots. Figures emerged—Jun, Farhan, Alvi, Masud, Roy, Hecate, and Hella—all imposing in their tailored combat gear, their faces hard as granite.

"So," Wen-Li said, her voice tinged with a simmering rage, "you've taken the Sinners as well. For what? To create chaos, like them? Are you so eager to destroy the promise of our late Chief?"

Masud's eyes flashed with anger, his hand twitching towards the hilt of his blade, but Hecate intercepted him, her grip firm on his wrist. Her gaze silently admonished him, and he relented, though his jaw tightened.

Madam Di-Xian rose, her movements slow but deliberate, her eyes locking onto Wen-Li's with a look that could freeze blood. A sinister smile spread across her lips as she spoke, her voice dripping with malice. "Destroying the late Chief Wen-Luo's promise? No. We're fulfilling it. If the law falters, we will become the law. And if you doubt us, Chief Wen-Li, then bring your proof. Catch me—if you dare."

Her words slithered into the room like serpents, sending a shiver down Wen-Li's spine.

Wen-Li straightened her back, her composure unbroken. "And Agent-90?" she asked.

Farhan stepped forward, his voice calm yet tinged with an edge of fatigue. "He is safe, operated on and recovering. Resting in a bathtub full of water."

Wen-Li's brow furrowed. "For what purpose?"

Roy's lips twitched in a faint, enigmatic smile. "Meditation, you might say."

Madam Di-Xian tilted her head slightly, regarding Wen-Li with a peculiar mixture of amusement and calculation. "So, my child, what is it that truly brought you here?"

Wen-Li's gaze hardened. "I want to know about Agent-90 and his connection to my father."

The air grew heavier as Madam Di-Xian's expression darkened. Rising to her full height, she gestured towards a shadowed corridor. "Follow me," she said, her voice cold and resolute.

The soldiers stepped aside, their gazes following every movement of the squad as Madam Di-Xian led them into the unknown. The candle flickered, its light wavering before being swallowed by the encroaching darkness. The room grew still, the storm outside echoing their unspoken fears.

The skyline of the dystopian metropolis stretched endlessly, a cacophony of towering monoliths shrouded in a veil of ceaseless rain. From his expansive office, Zhang Wei, the self-proclaimed President, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city below writhed in a grim ballet of flickering neon lights and glistening puddles, while thunder growled in the distance like an agitated beast. The rhythmic patter of rain on glass created a dirge-like ambience, amplifying the weight of the moment.

A sharp knock on the door broke the trance. Zhang Wei turned, his features set in an expression of tempered authority. "Enter," he commanded, his voice slicing through the room like a blade.

The door swung open, and Officer Ming stepped inside, his posture stiff. "Captain Robert has arrived, sir."

"Let him in," Zhang Wei replied, his tone curt.

The door barely closed before Robert stormed in, his presence as forceful as a tempest. He strode to the centre of the room, his movements deliberate yet rapid, like a predator closing in on its prey. "Chairman, you called," he said, his voice unnervingly calm, betraying none of the fire in his eyes.

Zhang Wei's face twisted into a mask of fury. "Chairman?" he bellowed, his voice reverberating off the walls. "You will address me as President, Captain Robert!"

Robert tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk curling his lips. He remained silent, his defiance palpable.

Zhang Wei slammed his fist onto the desk, the sound startlingly loud. "Why did you go to the late President's office?" he demanded, his tone a mixture of accusation and indignation.

"To uncover the truth behind his death," Robert replied evenly, his gaze unflinching.

Zhang Wei's face darkened further, his temper erupting like a volcano. "You dare meddle in SCP matters? Do you understand the chaos you've stirred? You're jeopardising the very fabric of our order!"

Robert's voice rose, meeting Zhang Wei's anger with his own. "The chaos was not mine to create but yours to conceal! A man of justice does not fear the truth, President Zhang Wei. Or perhaps you're terrified of what lies beneath your façade?"

The argument escalated, their voices clashing like swords in battle. Officers and staff outside the office paused, their curiosity piqued. Among them, Captain Lingaong Xuein folded her arms, her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. Commander Krieg stood nearby, muttering to himself, "Here he goes again."

Zhang Wei leaned forward, his finger jabbing the air. "There will be a meeting to solidify the alliance between the SCP and SSCBF. You will not, under any circumstances, create chaos! If you do, mark my words, you will be fired!"

Robert's eyes narrowed. "I disagree with your contract."

"So be it!" Zhang Wei roared, his voice cracking with unrestrained rage. "You're fired!"

Robert nodded, his movements slow and deliberate. Before leaving, he reached for a glass of water perched on Zhang Wei's desk, his actions deliberate. Without hesitation, he splashed its contents onto Zhang Wei's face.

The room fell into stunned silence. Zhang Wei sputtered, his face drenched, as Robert turned to leave. At the doorway, he stopped, casting a glance over his shoulder. His words were quiet, yet they carried the weight of a death knell. "Men like you, Zhang Wei, don't fall by their enemies' hands. They crumble under the weight of their own arrogance. Mark my words—your end will come from within."

Robert walked out, leaving Zhang Wei seething. "Imbecile! Upstart! Haramzada(bastard)! Who does he think he is?" Zhang Wei shouted, spittle flying as he hurled curses. "He will regret this! Every breath he takes will reek of his failure!"

Outside, Lingaong Xuein exchanged glances with her squad, their expressions a blend of amazement and suppressed amusement. "Well," she said, shaking her head, "the man's got nerve."

As the storm raged outside, the storm within the President's office promised to leave an even greater mark.

The room was an eclectic blend of elegance and subtle menace, the very essence of the Black Castle. The walls, painted a deep onyx, were adorned with intricate silver patterns that seemed to writhe and twist in the dim light, like serpents frozen mid-slither. Heavy velvet drapes hung from the tall windows, their edges brushing against the polished obsidian floor. The air was faintly perfumed with lavender and something darker, something metallic.

The woman with long maroon hair stood on the balcony, her figure silhouetted against the stormy sky. The rain pelted the cityscape beyond, its rhythm a haunting dirge. She wore a crisp white shirt tucked into a sleek black skirt, her appearance immaculate even in the soft chaos of the rain. In her hands, she cradled a watering can, gently tending to the lush, vibrant plants that thrived against all odds in this shadowy sanctuary. The leaves shimmered under the faint glow of an overhead lantern, a splash of life in the otherwise sombre surroundings.

The door creaked open, breaking the delicate silence. She turned slightly, her maroon hair cascading like a waterfall over her shoulder. Rahu entered, her movements heavy with exhaustion, her presence punctuated by the faint scent of rain and fatigue.

The woman allowed a small, knowing smile to curve her lips. "How was the task?" she asked, her voice soft yet edged with curiosity, like velvet draped over a blade.

"Don't tell," Rahu muttered, trudging to the bed. She sat heavily, the mattress creaking under her weight. "We got reprimanded."

"So, you managed to eliminate him?" the woman inquired, her tone still calm, though her fingers paused momentarily on the watering can.

"We did… but the Chief intervened," Rahu admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. She lay back on the bed, staring at the ornate ceiling that seemed to loom above her like a starless sky.

The woman, Shalom, placed the watering can down and stepped into the room, her heels clicking softly against the floor. "What are you doing, Shalom?" Rahu asked, her voice muffled as she covered her eyes with her arm.

Shalom moved with deliberate grace, her expression inscrutable. "Reflecting, Rahu," she said simply, folding her arms as she leaned against the edge of the desk. "A gardener does not merely water; she tends, she prunes, she observes. Every leaf, every petal, every thorn has its purpose. Much like every mission… every failure."

Rahu let out a humourless chuckle. "You and your metaphors," she said, her tone dry. "Do you always see life as a garden?"

Shalom tilted her head, her gaze piercing. "It's not about seeing life as a garden, my dear. It's about understanding that even the most vibrant roses grow in soil rich with decay. Tell me, did the Chief's interruption uproot your efforts, or did it merely reveal the weeds?"

Rahu sat up, her brow furrowed. "Weeds? What are you trying to say?"

Shalom moved closer, her steps deliberate, her shadow stretching across the room like an encroaching tide. "I am saying, Rahu, that you must discern the roots of the problem before you can truly cut them. If the Chief stopped you, it means there is more to this game than we anticipated. What was the Chief protecting? Or whom?"

Rahu's tired eyes narrowed. "Agent-90."

Shalom gave a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Then perhaps it's time we stopped merely watering the garden and started sowing seeds of our own."

The rain outside intensified, the storm's fury a mirror to the tension in the room. The two women, both bound by purpose yet driven by different flames, remained silent. But the silence was not empty—it was heavy, pregnant with unspoken plans and unrelenting resolve.

The VIP room was a sanctuary of opulence, draped in crimson and gold, with lanterns casting a soft, flickering glow across the polished ebony table. The faint aroma of jasmine tea lingered in the air, mingling with the muted hum of rain pattering against the latticed windows. Madam Di-Xian sat poised, her every movement a study in grace, her slender fingers elegantly cradling a porcelain cup. Across from her, Wen-Li leaned forward slightly, her expression a storm of curiosity and unease.

Outside the room, the atmosphere was starkly different. The tension between the two squads was palpable. Nightingale, Lan Qian, and Demitin stood shoulder to shoulder, their postures stiff as they exchanged steely glances with Jun, Farhan, Roy, and Masud. The air was thick with an unspoken challenge, each group silently measuring the other, their conversation taut with veiled barbs and sharp-edged words.

"Looks like Madam's protégés aren't much for smiles," Farhan remarked with a sardonic grin, his arms crossed.

"And yet they seem to manage without the need for your incessant chatter," Nightingale replied coolly, her voice like a blade drawn in silence.

Lan Qian glanced at Demitin, who gave a faint smirk. "Perhaps we should save the theatrics for those who care to watch," she added, her tone dismissive.

Masud's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he replied, "Bold words, but words won't save you when it counts."

Back in the VIP room, Wen-Li finally broke the silence, her voice steady yet tinged with urgency. "Madam Di-Xian, I need answers. The connection between Agent-90 and Late Chief."

Madam Di-Xian set her cup down with deliberate care, the faint clink echoing in the room. She looked at Wen-Li, her gaze as penetrating as a scalpel. "You seek to unravel a tapestry woven in blood and shadows. Very well." She took a measured breath before continuing.

"Many years ago," she began, her voice low and resonant, "it was the rainy season, and the world itself seemed to mourn. The SSCBF—myself, Robert, Gonda, Commander Krieg, and, of course, Chief Wen-Luo and Lieutenant Ren-Li—were called to the Gon-Whiel Orphanage. We'd heard whispers of atrocities, but nothing could have prepared us for what we found."

Wen-Li's gaze was unyielding, her fists clenching under the table.

"The rain fell heavily that day," Madam Di-Xian continued, her tone steady, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of haunting memories. "The orphanage was a mausoleum. Blood smeared every surface, as though the walls themselves wept for the lives lost. We followed the crimson trail to the hall, and there, amidst the carnage, stood a boy of no more than seven. His eyes were an icy blue, devoid of innocence, and his face pale as moonlight. His hair—black silk, untouched by the filth around him."

Wen-Li's breath caught.

"Chief Wen-Luo signaled for us to stand down. He approached the boy cautiously, kneeling before him. The boy's expression shifted, fear breaking through the mask of apathy, and he embraced the Chief. It was then Ren-Li noticed the barcode—'90'—etched into the back of his head, a mark of his torment. Files retrieved by Gonda revealed the grim truth: these children were numbered, experimented on, stripped of humanity to become weapons."

Madam Di-Xian's words hung in the air like a specter. Wen-Li's tears glistened in the lantern light as she whispered, "Subject 90…"

Madam Di-Xian nodded solemnly. "Wen-Luo took him in, determined to give him a life beyond the cold embrace of experiments. By ten, the boy was thriving under Wen-Luo's care. But the government's cruelty—their insidious efforts to mould children into emotionless monsters—became the catalyst for something greater. Wen-Luo founded the SDF, an organisation born to serve justice where the law faltered."

She leaned closer, her voice firm. "The SDF is not merely an ally of the SSCBF—it is its backbone, its conscience. We exist because of the atrocities the system permits."

Wen-Li's shoulders trembled as she processed the weight of the revelation. Madam Di-Xian, her expression softening slightly, concluded, "Your father's vision, Chief Wen-Luo's vision, was not just to fight injustice but to ensure no child suffers as 90 did. Remember this, Chief Wen-Li. Remember why we fight."

Outside, the rain continued to fall, a relentless rhythm against the chaos and sorrow woven within the walls of Fasho Restaurant.

The room was a monument to order and control, its sharp edges and minimalist design mirroring its occupant's precision. The towering glass windows framed a city drowned in twilight, where skyscrapers pierced the heavens like cold, unfeeling spires. The hum of rain on the glass played a ghostly melody, its rhythm punctuated by distant thunder. A solitary telephone sat on Gavriel's immaculate desk, its shrill ring slicing through the tranquil ambience.

He picked it up, his fingers curling around the receiver with practiced ease. "Gavriel speaking."

From the other end, a voice, low and resonant like the growl of a storm, spoke with measured authority. "Is everything proceeding according to plan?"

"Yes, boss, it is," Gavriel replied, his tone unwavering, a predator cloaked in civility.

"Good," the voice rumbled, each word deliberate, heavy with menace. "What must be done, must be done swiftly. The world awaits its renaissance, and we are its architects."

"Rest assured, sir," Gavriel said, leaning back in his chair, his smile faint but venomous. "Everything is in motion. Though, I must ask—why have you delayed your arrival? You were expected today."

The voice on the line softened, like a blade sheathed momentarily. "The world grieves the loss of the SSCBF President. Appearances must be maintained. However, I commend your handling of the scapegoat. A masterstroke. But tell me, what of the letter Song Luoyang left for her?"

Gavriel chuckled, a sound devoid of mirth. "Ah, that. Our men intercepted it before the investigation. Elan planted a counterfeit. She will read it and believe that Agent 90 is the villain of this tale."

The voice darkened, a whisper of thunder in its timbre. "He is more than a pawn, Gavriel. He is part of our grand experiment. Do not waste him. Bring him to me alive. We shall forge him anew—perfection incarnate."

"As you wish, sir," Gavriel said with a gleam in his eye, his confidence as sharp as a drawn dagger.

"And the girl?" the voice pressed, colder now, like the chill before dawn. "She is our greatest threat. If Wen-Li survives, our vision crumbles. She must be eradicated, no matter the cost. Remember, our meeting is on the 1st of June. Ensure all is in readiness."

Gavriel's smirk deepened, a serpent's grin. "Fear not, sir. Everything will proceed smoothly. Wen-Li has overstayed her welcome in this world. It is time she paid the price for daring to stand in our way."

"See that it is done," the voice commanded, and the line went dead, leaving Gavriel with the echo of thunder and the rain's ceaseless dirge.

Placing the receiver down with calculated precision, Gavriel stood and walked to the window. The city below stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of ambition and despair. Lightning illuminated his reflection—a man with eyes as cold as winter's breath, his smirk a rictus of malice.

"Your time has come, Wen-Li," he murmured, his voice as soft as silk and as lethal as a blade's edge. "The game is set, and the pieces are mine to command."

The dimly lit chamber of the SDF headquarters was a symphony of shadows and silence, interrupted only by the soft hum of machinery. A large, ornate tub, filled with glimmering, murky water, sat in the centre of the room like an altar to some unknown deity. Agent-90 floated motionlessly, his body submerged except for his face, which remained eerily serene. The water rippled faintly with every breath he took, its surface reflecting the dull glow of the overhead lights like fractured shards of moonlight.

His eyes remained closed, but his mind was far from dormant.

In the void of his vision, he found himself standing on cold, obsidian ground, surrounded by figures draped in long black robes, their faces obscured by sinister masks and deep hoods. Their presence was suffocating, like a storm pressing against his skin. Two of the cloaked figures stepped forward, their movements deliberate and silent as death. They seized him by the arms, dragging him toward an ominous glow in the distance.

The crowd parted as though commanded by some invisible force, revealing a grand assembly of fourteen groups, each adorned in robes of different hues—crimson, alabaster, emerald, sapphire, violet, umber, and more. Each group bore unique geometric symbols: triangles, circles,hexagrams, pentagons, and others, some etched with unsettling satanic designs of Behemoth and Baphomet. The air was thick with an oppressive energy, a chorus of whispers in a language both ancient and unknowable.

As Agent-90 raised his gaze, he recognised familiar faces among the throng: Jun, Farhan, Roy, Masud, and Alvi, their expressions obscured beneath matching garb. Others stood beside them, strangers whose presence felt both alien and foreboding.

At the centre of this assembly stood a figure clad in a white robe, their mask featureless save for slits for eyes, shaped like a hound's bark frozen in steel. Before them, a guillotine loomed, its blade gleaming cruelly in the dim blue light. With a gesture as fluid as water, the leader beheaded a kneeling figure—a sacrificial offering to their twisted creed.

The leader's gaze then turned toward Agent-90, their voice ringing out with a chilling finality, "Every enemy of the state."

The scene grew darker still as monstrous shadows emerged from the periphery, entities of incomprehensible form and intent. They surged forward, attacking the gathering like waves of chaos crashing upon a fragile shore.

Agent-90's eyes snapped open, his body jerking in the water. The room was deathly silent, save for the faint dripping of condensation from the tub's edges. The once-lukewarm water now felt cold and viscous against his skin.

"You're awake," came a voice, smooth yet commanding, from the shadows.

Agent-90 turned his head sharply, his glasses glinting as he adjusted them. Across the room sat a figure in an opulent throne-like chair, their posture exuding effortless authority. Draped in an Eastern Emperor's garb of black and cobalt, their eyes glowed with an unsettling reversal—black sclera with white irises.

"You!" Agent-90's voice was sharp, his gaze piercing. "Who are you, and what are you doing inside of me?"

The figure tilted their head, a small smirk gracing their lips. "I am Emperor *****, and I reside here—within you."

"You're from the ****** era," Agent-90 said, his voice laced with incredulity.

"Indeed," the Emperor replied, his tone as smooth as silk. "A relic of a bygone age, resurrected by human folly. A group of fools exhumed my grave atop the Yang-Cho snowy mountain, expecting decay but finding me intact. When they fused my essence into your body during their heinous experiments, our fates entwined."

Agent-90 clenched his fists. "So, it was you who slaughtered the 73 Sinners and the 107 outlaws?"

The Emperor stood and crossed the space between them in a blink, his nails tracing a line along Agent-90's cheek. Blood beaded from the faint cut. "We did it," he whispered, his demonic eyes locking with Agent-90's.

"They seek to annihilate our world, to summon monsters from shadows and birth a new dominion," the Emperor continued.

"You mean the Fourteen Groups?" Agent-90 asked.

"No, the Families," the Emperor corrected. "Their grasp spans centuries, their roots as deep as the year 700 A.D. They are the puppeteers, the architects of chaos."

"How do we stop them?" Agent-90 asked, his voice steady but his mind a storm.

The Emperor's smirk widened. "We make a deal. For five seconds, when I take over, you will lose yourself completely. In exchange, I shall grant you the strength and knowledge to end them."

Agent-90 hesitated, his thoughts racing. "Fine, but on one condition—my people, my comrades, must remain unharmed."

"Agreed," the Emperor said, extending a clawed hand. They shook, the pact sealed with an otherworldly surge of power.

The moment their deal was struck, Agent-90 felt his consciousness fade. When he awoke, water dripped from his skin as he stepped out of the tub. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror—a man changed, his eyes darker, his purpose clearer.

"Who are they?" he whispered, the question echoing in the empty chamber as if the walls themselves pondered the answer.