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rika-mmendmethings · 2 months ago

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Against Blood & Water l Sylus

Chapter 1

CH 2 »

Summary: Seventeen years ago, your life had taken a turn for the worse when your newborn twins were separated from you by a cruel twist of fate. The same fate had led you to the N109 Zone, to your children who were all grown up now. Reconciliation with your boys would've been slightly easier had they somehow not acquired a father figure over the years who wasn't letting them go anytime soon.

Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For this chapter: manipulative relationship, unplanned pregnancy, unresponsible man, parent child abduction, only angst in this one.

Word count: 1.8k

Playlist coming soon.

Notes: This story is for the Sylus girlies' who consider Luke and Kieran their babies. There'd probably be some important questions in your mind after you finish reading this. Some of them would be revealed in the coming chapters. Slightly altered details would be present in the story but mostly it won't deviate from the timeline. A little information on the timeline: in this story, the reader is 35 with Luke and Kieran being 17. Sylus never felt like 28 to me so he's a hot ass 39 year old man (bear with me). The reader was pregnant just some weeks after she turned 18 so no, she isn't a minor. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask me and I'd try my best to give you a proper answer without revealing too much. Let me know if you wish to be added in the tag list for this. ♥

Seventeen years ago, October came like it always did — a month of crisp air and golden sunsets, a time when the year began to wane, and the world seemed to breathe its last sigh before the chill of winter. You had turned eighteen, your mind filled with the thoughts of new beginnings. Graduation from law school was right on the horizon, you could already picture the crisp white collar of your lawyer’s shirt, the feel of success at your fingertips. A driving license to claim, grown-up independence to savor, a girl’s trip to a sunny beach to mark your coming-of-age. The possibilities stretched out like an endless road, glittering and full of hope.

Then, a steamy night for the celebration of your birthday occurred and it brought along a twist of fate that’d change everything and become the most beautiful mistake of your life.

The moment you found out you were pregnant, it was as if the ground beneath you trembled. The bright future you had painted for yourself seemed to splinter into a thousand broken pieces. You had hoped, for one fleeting moment, that it was just a mistake. But the test was undeniable, the two pink lines standing as cold, unyielding evidence.

At that time, you thought that it was the end.

But then, there was him. Your boyfriend of four years, the boy who had promised you the world with every kiss, every touch. He held you through your multiple breakdowns, whispering soft reassurances. “We’ll figure it out, we’ll be okay. Family first, family always.”

The words sounded comforting at first, and you clung to them like a lifeline thrown into an ocean of uncertainty. You couldn’t even bring yourself to imagine your parents’ reaction. But somehow, in your heart, you trusted him. You believed that you both were in this together, that you’d somehow find a way to make everything work.

You told your parents three weeks into the pregnancy. Their reaction was what you had feared — disbelief, disappointment, a quiet storm of emotions. You expected them to disown you but you willed yourself to not jump upon any fear-induced scenarios. But then, as if they could see past the temporary cloud, they wrapped their arms around you, telling you that the ones who you call your own never leave you in any kind of situation. Your parents had stood as your shield against the societal backlash and never failed to take your stand.

Soon after, you broke the news to your friends and close cousins as well and all of them got together to host a small, no alcohol included, party for you. Some selective relatives of yours were slightly taunting you but they came around as well. You had been overjoyed seeing so much love and acceptance from the people you valued.

You had thought of your boyfriend, miles away handling his family’s business, telling you with a strange half-smile that his parents were abroad and they were supportive of your decisions, that they had already agreed. He informed you that he’d come with his parents to meet you after the birth of your children. And like the love-blinded fool you were, you believed him, your heart softened by his honey-dripped words.

He wasn’t around much during your pregnancy, much to your loved ones’ disapproval, but you dispelled their fears, telling them that he was just busy with his parents’ business. Though you didn’t feel alone during all your ultrasounds, gender reveal, and other precious moments.

Nine months passed, and the world shifted once again. You gave birth to twins, two perfect, crying little boys. Luke and Kierran — names given by you as strong as their tiny, trembling hearts. You looked at their faces, so innocent and unaware, and felt a surge of love that was deeper than any ocean, more infinite than the stars. They were your world, and in that moment seeing their tiny arms flail, you felt the warmth of motherhood in your chest. And you realized that your dreams may have been altered, but they were not truly gone.

The hospital room felt warm, a sanctuary of love and joy as all the visitors took their leave to let you rest. You smelled faintly of antiseptic, but in your delirious new-mother state, it was the smell of life. Your eyes fluttered closed as you slept on the bed beside their crib, your babies’ soft breathing a lullaby in the still night.

And then, you woke to a noise.

A shadow moved at the door, and you blinked through the haze of sleep.

It was him.

Your boyfriend.

He was standing there, a figure you hadn’t seen in at least four months, his eyes uncertain, his posture stiff. You smiled, expecting him to rush to the crib and hold our children, to finally meet the lives you two had created together, a symbol of your love. But instead, he moved toward you with a strange, almost frantic urgency.

Before you could react, he was there, the faint scent of chloroform filling your nostrils as his trembling hands pressed a soaked napkin to your face. Your eyes widened in confusion, and then the world blurred; your limbs grew heavy, and you lost consciousness.

And then… darkness.

When you woke up, it was afternoon from what you could tell. The faces around you were full of sorrow, your parents’ eyes swollen from crying, your friends silent, their faces stricken. The hospital staff stood nearby, their looks pitying and grim. Out of maternal instinct, you checked the crib and you found the place empty where your children were supposed to be.

"Where... where are my twins?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper. It didn’t help your gut as everyone became more sorrowful at that. The words barely lingered in the room before your mother’s sobs filled the room.

“They’re gone,” she said, her voice breaking. "Your boyfriend’s parents—they never approved of them. They... they made him do it. They made him abandon them."

The weight of the words crashed into me like a tidal wave. You couldn't understand, couldn't process the agony of the moment. He—he had abandoned them? My twin boys? My heart shattered, piece by piece, as the cruel reality set in.

“They—where are they?” you gasped your throat tight with the kind of fear that makes your body tremble, the kind of terror that comes from losing something more precious than life itself.

“They’re gone,” your mother repeated, her voice thick with pain. “He took them somewhere after you passed out… probably leaving them on the streets. And then... he ran away. He and his family took the first flight and are abroad now, so we can’t even track them down.”

The room spun, the walls closing in on you. It was a nightmare that you had awoken to, and you couldn’t escape. Your babies, your sweet, innocent twins, were gone. Gone because of him, because of his family. Because all of them didn’t want to take responsibility. And you had been blind enough to trust him.

That day, you had ripped the IV tube out of your arm and dashed out of the hospital in your gown before anyone could stop you. The following hours were a blur of endless searching. You scoured the streets, your hands trembling as you asked strangers if they had seen two newborn babies somewhere. But it was as if they had vanished into the ether, erased from the world as though they had never existed.

You hadn’t worn any slippers, and your feet were dirty, swollen, and even painted with dried blood as your family tried to get you back to the hospital, much to your denial. Once you were back on the bed with your condition rechecked and the room empty, you broke down into sobs. For nine months, you had carried your children and you didn’t even get to spend a whole day with them before they were already ripped out of your arms by the cruel hands of fate.

You had so many dreams that you imagined with them. Every special moment of their life was taken from you just because a boy refused to be a man. You threw the blanket off your body, bitter tears rolling down your cheeks. You felt like a terrible, terrible mother for even being in this air-conditioned room while your boys were out there in this unbearable weather.

Days passed and then months, the pain of their absence gnawed at you every second. You could hear their little cries, their laughter, their tiny hands reaching for me in the darkness. You could still feel the weight of their little bodies in your arms, their warm breath on your skin, and then, just as suddenly, they were gone. You’d see them grow up and then you’d wake up abruptly, drenched in sweat.

Every day, you fought the emptiness, the overwhelming loneliness that threatened to consume you. It was a tragic loss that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

But through it all, you told yourself — you would find them.

Even if it took a lifetime, you would never stop searching. Because nothing in this world could ever break a mother’s determination.

And as you searched, you clung to the memory of their tiny hands in yours, the soft whispers of their names as you held them tightly for the first and last time that unfateful day.

Seventeen years had passed since that fateful day, and now you were a highly successful lawyer working within Linkon’s judiciary system. The sense of relief and satisfaction that came from seeing criminals — especially kidnappers — locked behind bars was unparalleled. In a way, it served as a form of catharsis, a way to release the unrestrained anger you felt for the man who had stolen your bundles of happiness from you.

At present, you were secretly handling a case involving a notorious drug lord, but you had reached an impasse. Determined to break through, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You ventured into a few unlawful locations, hoping to gather enough intel to lead you to the evidence you needed. Your eyes lingered on the conspiracy board in your home, focusing particularly on the parchment handed to you just the day before at The Nest. It contained an address — a location pointing to an old warehouse where, according to sources, drugs were stored until they could be transported to the docks.

The warehouse was situated in the N109 Zone, an area infamous for its criminal activity. The judicial system considered it a nightmare, a place no sane lawyer would dare to tread. But then again, you had long since stopped being called "sane." Your colleagues knew better than anyone how stubborn you could be, especially when it came to cases like this. No one had yet managed to deter you from the dangerous paths you chose to walk.

You had devised a plan: gain access to N109 with the assistance of some wealthy clients, secure an apartment, and collect the evidence you needed. It sounded simple enough. Yet, as you prepared for your journey, a sense of foreboding crept over you, as if your very instincts were warning you of something to come.

But you didn’t care. The next morning, you set off for the N109 Zone, resolute in your mission.

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

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salemrph · 4 months ago

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"Let the World Burn"

Chapter 2: Fragmented memories

Summary: A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money.

How easy will it be to enter the enemies bass? Sylus has a plan, multiple escape routes and a bad feeling about Rudy. Luke and Kieran have a clear mission: Find you.

Characters: Sylus x MC/reader/you, Luke and Kieran, Zayne, Caleb

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, grief, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Word count: 6,944 | Reading Time: 28 min | AO3

Hope I tagged everyone: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @syluskisser @fortunekookie07 @crimsonlittlecrow @mochibunnies3 @gazelover666 @fancyhawk45 @sorryimakira @paninisstuff @deathrye @tinyweebsstuff @sxderia @yunhogrippers @sylusqt @darkesky @an-ever-angry-bi

Chapter 2: Fragmented memories

You slowly regain consciousness, the blinding brightness of the room searing your senses. Your eyelids flutter, struggling against the invasive light, and as your vision clears, a harsh, sterile white ceiling looms above you. You're lying on a cold table, your arms and legs bound tightly. Your body aches—the guy from before gave you a brutal beating. This is bad. The frigid surface bites through the thin fabric of the hospital gown draped over your body, amplifying the already unnatural chill of the room. As you try to move and lose your restraints, pain crosses through your arm. An IV needle it connected to you, its tubing snaking away to a fluid-filled bag suspended nearby.

The constant beep of machines makes you freak out. The panic rises in your chest, but you force yourself to breathe through it, trying to make sense of your surroundings. You can barely see the shapes of several people around the room. They're silent, just watching at the monitors, as if you’re some alien under their observation. The scent of antiseptic in the room overflows your nostrils making your throat feel dry. Where are you? Who are these people?

“What are you doing?” You manage to rasp, your voice hoarse as you attempt to break the silence. “Hey! Answer me!”

Your shouts are met with silence. Your gaze darts around frantically, scanning everything like a tennis ball bouncing back and forth, trying to make sense of what the hell is happening. Okay, okay—what are the facts? You’ve been kidnapped, beaten multiple times, thrown into a filthy cell, stripped of all your belongings… not even the clothes you were wearing remain. This doesn’t look good at all. You’re screwed. Really screwed. There has to be something, anything in this place that gives you a clue about what the hell is going on. Your eyes dart around: just a clinical room, cabinets filled with medicine, bottles, and way too much surgical metal. God, you just hope they don’t cut off your fingers… A shiver runs down your spine.

Then the door swings open, quick but heavy footsteps close the distance between you. A voice, familiar, twisted, echoes in the room. At first, you don’t recognize him. But as the seconds stretch, the realization slams into you like a punch in the face. That fucker. You should have let Sylus finish him off when he had the chance. Great!

“Ah, ah, Mister Sylus,” he cut him off with a mocking edge. "I have something of yours. I wouldn’t mind returning it, but... I want something in return." They are really using you as a bargaining chip, son of a bitch.

You turn your head, trying to focus. His footsteps stop right beside you. Rudy has a smug look on his face as he leans in. His fingers trail along your cheek before gripping just firmly enough to tilt your face toward him. You try to turn away, but the grasp is too tight.

Rudy chuckles, savoring the moment. "Impatient as always. She’s... fine." This idiot is even making dramatic pauses, just to play cool. Your blood is boiling. "Say something, sweetheart."

"Don't touch me you asshole—!" You bite back, the words escaping you in a rush.

The feeling of his fat hands it’s almost enough to make you gag with disgust. You fight back, desperation fueling you until you find your opportunity. Biting down as hard as you could on his finger when it brushes near to your mouth, feeling his skin break under your teeth. He screams in pain, the sound sending a wave of satisfaction through you. You spit out the blood you made on his face.

"Bitch…!" Rudy snarls, clutching his hand as he glares down at you. He mutters something you don’t catch, cleaning the spit with a cloth handkerchief. Then he barked an order at someone in the room. "Keep her in line."

Without another glance, he storms out, slamming the door behind him. The sound reverberates through the sterile space, leaving you with the scent of his disgusting cologne mixed with the awful smell of cigar. Two people in lab coats step forward, their movements brisk and practiced. One starts fiddling with a machine nearby, the beeping of its activation makes your hair stand on end.

"Stay still" says the woman as she approaches. Without even seeing her face under the mask, you know she has a cold expression. She holds up a syringe, the needle glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights. Your pulse spikes.

“Hey, hey, stop! No—!” you thrash against your restraints.

"Shh…” she soothes, but there's no real comfort in it. Just clinical indifference. “It won’t hurt... maybe just a bit," she murmurs.

You flinch as the cold touch of the needle pricks your arm. "Get off me, now!" you scream. With your limited mobility, you can only shake the table a little. The woman holds your arm tightly to finish injecting the solution.

She tilts her head slightly. "Struggling won’t change anything." Then she presses the plunger slowly, savoring the way your body tenses beneath her grip. Your breath stutters as the liquid floods your veins, an unnatural chill spreading through your body. Your muscles tense in protest.

The other person, a man, moves quickly, attaching sticky pads to your chest. The beep of a cardiac monitor starts up, syncing with your racing heartbeat. His expression is impassive, it's like you're looking at an empty shell. Your mind is working a thousand miles per hour, if this is just to blackmail Sylus… You mentally try to recover what you learned as a Hunter, kidnapping missions are not part of your daily life, but you have learned something in the academie. Maybe Rudy is a sadist, he just wants to challenge Sylus. But what does he gain by torturing you in this way?

“Think, think, why, why would they…?” A sudden, violent heartbeat slams against your ribs like a hammer. The impulse in your chest forces all the air out of your lungs as your back arches involuntarily. Your eyes fly wide open, unfocused, the edges of your vision blurring.

“It… hurts.” The words hardly make it past your lips. For a moment, the pain vanishes, leaving behind a hollow ache, but your body doesn’t trust the reprieve. You gasp, dragging in air that does nothing to calm the fire spreading beneath your skin. The beeping of the monitors quickens, matching the erratic pace of your heart. Then—another pulse. The sound of your screams echoes through space.

You fade in and out of consciousness, your body weak and drenched in sweat. Each time you come back, your chest feels tighter, your heartbeat a wild drum that pounds in your ears. The pounding isn’t just rapid—it feels dangerous, like your heart could shatter your ribcage at any moment. The pain surges through you, pulling more screams from your throat. The room spins violently as fear claws its way into your mind. Your instincts yelp louder than the pain, a deep, primal voice inside you whispering that this isn’t new. A fragmented memory stirs—a sense of déjà vu you can’t quite piece together. You catch snippets of voices, muffled and distant, but nothing registers fully. Your body feels like it’s fighting against itself, every nerve alight with terror and agony.

"Please…" you gasp, not even sure who you’re pleading with. No one answers. Distant whispers echo through the haze. Faint voices argue in the distance, their tones sharp and urgent, though the words remain unclear. You feel weak, your limbs are heavy and your mind foggy. Sleep tugs insistently at the edges of your consciousness, making you feel small.

A woman’s voice cuts through the murmur, resonant and sharp with anger. It reverberates in the space around you, commanding your attention despite the disorienting blur of your surroundings. Everything is veiled in a misty. The edges of your vision flicker and fade. Keeping your eyes open feels like a monumental effort, the weight of exhaustion pulling you under.

You’re small. Everything is small. You clutch something soft—plush fabric worn from being held too tightly, too often. A stuffed animal? You don’t look down to check. You can’t. Because you’re hiding. The space around you is cramped and dark, but through a narrow slit, you see them. Two figures, their hands moving with sharp, deliberate gestures. Their voices are rising. You lean in, straining to hear. You shouldn’t be here. You know that. Someone told you before but you don’t remember who. Was it that boy with deep purple eyes who always played with you? And yet, you stay. Because something tells you this moment matters.

"We can't keep doing this. She's just a child" the woman says, her voice trembling with suppressed fury.

"Please…" He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face before looking away, as if this conversation is nothing more than an inconvenience. "You were the first one to agree to this."

"This is getting out of hand!" she snaps, her voice rising in desperation. She waves some documents before throwing them on the table. "For God's sake, we can't—"

"We haven’t discovered anything new yet," he interrupts. "We have to move on." The room is plunged into silence for a long moment.

"How many more times are we going to kill her?" the woman finally says, her voice cracking. Kill her. The words echo in your mind, looping over and over until they don’t feel real anymore. Your grip tightens around the plushie, your small fingers digging into the fabric as your heart pounds against your chest. You don’t understand. You don’t want to understand. "Have you lost all ethics, all humanity?" Your chest feels tight. Your legs are numb from crouching too long, but you don’t dare move. You don’t even blink.

The man exhales slowly, but his expression remains unreadable. Around you, the blurry surroundings shift slightly, as if responding to the weight of their words.

"Getting the understanding of the Aether Core and how she comes back every time, is more important than... her life" the man says coldly, there is no trace of empathy on his face. The woman's breath catches, and she stares at him as if seeing him for the first time.

“More important than her life?" She repeats, disbelief and horror etched into every word. She looked at the paper laying chaotic around.

"Yes" he says, finally turning to meet her gaze. His eyes are steely, unflinching. "You knew that from the beginning.” He paused. “Don’t tell me you care about her now. You know that it is not allowed to establish emotional ties with the subjects." The feeling that something is very, very wrong sinks in you. You breathe heavily, accidentally hitting something metal with your hand. The woman's attention would be drawn to where you are hiding. Before she can grab you, the memory twists and forms away.

A little girl's voice echoes through the memory, she seems to be laughing. She has an animal bandage on her cheek and another on her knee. Just a few moments ago she was crying loudly. “Why was I crying?” She wipes the tears from her face.

“Thank you…” the green-eyed boy smiles at you “You could be a doctor in the future.”

The images crash over you in a relentless tide, too fast to grasp, too vivid to ignore. Thousands of images and sounds come together before your eyes, and you don't know where to put them. When did all this happen? You fall into cold water. You're drowning, darkness closing in on you as you sink slowly. You catch a glimpse of a blue glowing light and feel a warm kiss, before you can take a deep breath. There it is. A vast ocean full of incredible sea creatures, the flicker of an extinguished flame, a dagger resting atop an ancient stone. Bubbles form and envelop your body. You turn, disoriented, and for a moment, you swear you’re standing in a field of jasmine, the delicate white petals swaying in a breeze you can’t feel. The scent is almost there, just out of reach, but something about it feels wrong. No... A tear slips down your cheek. The wind rises, carrying away loose petals and caressing your face. You look up at the sky, gazing into the infinite expanse of a starry night. Before you, a long, tranquil lake stretches out, its surface perfectly mirroring the starlit heavens. A shooting star streaks across the night. The sight tugs at something deep inside you. The strange feeling that that star has just left you.

“When did I see this?”

Panic spikes as you take a step back, your foot catching on something solid. You stumble, barely managing to steady yourself before crashing into a heap of treasure. Gold coins spilling across the ground, glimmering gemstones, ancient weapons, heavy chests locked tight with secrets you don’t remember hiding. A cave? The glow of the tersores is covered in blood. Before you know it, the flames engulf everything, turning it into ashes. Your steps echo in the vast infinity of nothingness. It feels like millennia have passed as you walk in solitude. An apple rolls near to your feets, before you can reach it… A blinding light flashes, followed by a powerful shockwave that sends you crashing into darkness.

A sudden rumble in your mind cuts the memory off. The blurry world around you crumbles, destabilizing further. Faint screams echo somewhere far away, or maybe they're just in your head. Your chest tightens. The weight of your dreams presses down on you, suffocating, and you feel the pull of sleep clawing at you once more, threatening to drag you into oblivion. It feels like you're floating in a thick liquid. You can't swim, it just keeps you there.

The blinding light stings, searing through the haze. You’re back. Back on the table. Strapped down. Cold. Your body feels weightless, unsteady, as if reality itself hasn’t fully solidified around you yet. None of it makes sense. You’re floating in the space between consciousness and whatever came before. And for the first time, a terrifying thought pushes through the fog.

How many times has this happened before?

___

Rudy's trash stash was further away than Sylus had thought. On one of the farthest margins of the N109 Zone. But it must be said that the bastard has balls. Since Rudy was inside his territory, it would be easier to blow up the place without having the authorities of Linkon sniffing around. Not that Sylus would have minded doing it in Linkon, but it saved him a few steps in his plan.

This wasn’t going to be easy. Any miscalculation could cause the plan to unravel spectacularly. The goal is simple: get you out alive. Everything else, everyone else, is irrelevant. He pulls out of his pocket a small translucent container, inside the blueish Aether Core glows softly. So much trouble over this thing. The more he thinks about it, the more he regrets letting you go with him. He leans back in the seat of the car parked several miles from his destination. The twins are out there, scouring the perimeter for a secondary entrance. Their mission: Extraction. It’s straightforward enough—at least on paper. The car will stay there, like the other two, hidden in the darkness, being part of the escape routes he has set for you. Sylus' job is to keep Rudy entertained. He can't afford to be even a little suspicious—everything has to happen quickly. Dragging the conversation on for too long might raise suspicion. The plausible window to execute the plan is only about 15 to 30 minutes. As soon as Luke and Kieran give the signal, he’ll take care of killing the son of a bitch.

The twins' brief investigation into Rudy and his empire has uncovered rumors that the bastard has been receiving help—money, weapons, and other resources. However, in the limited time they had, they couldn’t identify the source. It’s not a problem Sylus can deal with right now. Someone in the N109 Zone must have joined Rudy’s cause, but there are no guarantees. It could be anyone. Sylus can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s more. The timing, location, and stakes are too orchestrated. It smells like a trap—to kill him, kill you, and claim the Aether Core for themself.

If that’s the play, things could get ugly fast. He exhales slowly, steadying himself as his mind runs through every contingency, every possible outcome. He has faced troublesome enemies before, but this is definitely the worst night of his life. The time he spent in the space-time prison was nothing compared to this. Even getting to this planet and conquering the area was easier. Sylus massages his temple. What a problematic night.

His phone lies on the passenger seat. You made him change the background picture a few days ago. As he unlocks the screen, a smile tugs at his lips when he sees your radiant face. That day, you’d managed to win another stuffed animal from the crane machine. One of your little trophies, which went straight to the collection on the bed. Slowly but surely, there would be less and less room for him if you kept winning like that. But, as long as it makes you happy… Maybe next time he’ll just toss them all on the floor. Especially when the overwhelming desire to have you consumes him.

Even though Sylus may not be a man of sentimentality, this is hurting him. His jaw clenches, his thumb hovering over the screen as if swiping away the image would somehow erase the guilt clawing at his insides. He should have trained you harder, he should have made sure there was more security. However, he can't keep you locked away. You are not some delicate thing, not someone to be sheltered like glass. You are fire and steel, his equal in every way. A free soul. Half of his soul.

And that’s what makes this worse because if he had tried to stop you, to hold you back, you would have fought him every step of the way. Like you always do. You would have just laughed, kissed him with the same reckless abandon you always did, and walked straight into the fire anyway. He would have let you—because he could never be the one to clip your wings. But now, because of that freedom, because he didn’t do enough, you are out there, with that loathsome motherfucker. His grip on the phone tightens. Every second wasted is a second too long. And when he gets you back—because there is no “if,” only when—he will pull you into his arms, feel your heartbeat against his, and make damn sure no one ever dares to take you from him again.

If that wasn’t enough, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight until every loose end was tied. Even if that means forcing you to take a vacation, so be it. He would give you a new identity if necessary—a new name, a new passport. He’d buy you a house far away, a place where you could disappear until the dust settled. Or maybe it was time to leave all this behind—for both of you. Hell, he’d even take the boys with him. After everything they’d done to become his right hand, he couldn’t just abandon them. Truly, your kindness had been seeping into his soul, whether he liked it or not. Sylus smiles at the thought. Yet, as much as he’d love to run away with you, as his beloved hunter, you would only trick him with cunning words to drag him right back into the investigation… Because he knows you, because you like mystery, because you are not a passive Hunter.

The static in his ear crackles, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Boss, we're in position." Kieran's voice cuts through the noise. It’s time to move.

In the blink of an eye, Sylus vanishes from the car seat. A swirl of red and black mist engulfs him, a brief flash of motion that leaves nothing behind but a single feather, delicately resting on the seat. A few seconds later, Sylus rematerializes in front of the building, the air around him rippling as his evol dissipates. Immediately several guards are pointing at him.

Sylus steps into the warehouse escorted. A little theatre for this boring performance never hurts. His boots echoing faintly against the cracked concrete floor. The air inside is heavy with the acrid tang of smoke and rust. Inside the warehouse, there are several vehicles parked, boxes stacked, guards making rounds. The makeshift lounge in the center of the room is a surreal contrast to the warehouse's grungy surroundings—two leather sofas and a low table cluttered with ashtrays and empty glasses. The centerpiece of this tableau is Rudy, lounging with the confidence of a man who believes himself untouchable. A cigarette dangles lazily from his fingers, the ember flaring with every casual drag he takes.

Overhead, on the second-floor catwalk, armed men pace like vultures, their eyes trained on him, fingers resting a little too comfortably on the triggers of their rifles. Sylus smiles, he's not immortal but this wouldn’t be the first time he’s stood in the eye of a storm of bullets. Still, he’d prefer not to turn this into another bloodbath. Not yet.

"Ah, Mr. Sylus" Rudy greets, exhaling a plume of smoke that curls lazily upward. His grin is wide and insincere, cutting across his face like a scar. "You're finally here. I was beginning to think you'd disappoint me, and you're too smart for that. Too smart to let me down, right?"

Sylus keeps his face neutral, impassive as always, stepping closer but keeping his movements measured. "Let you down? That would imply I ever planned to impress you in the first place."

Rudy chuckles, the sound dry and humorless. He flicks ash onto the floor, his sharp gaze studying Sylus like a puzzle he’s trying to solve. "Always so quick with the words. But let’s cut to the chase. Did you bring it?"

Sylus slides his hands casually into his coat pockets, his fingers brushing against the Aether Core. "Yes, I did…" he says, his tone light. "But you know me, Rudy. I like to negotiate first." He needs to buy time. Until Luke and Kieran confirm that you're safe, he won’t make a move. His mind works at a blistering pace, scanning the room, noting every exit, every weapon, every angle.

"Negotiate?" Rudy repeats, leaning forward. His grin falters slightly, revealing the irritation beneath his charm. "This isn’t a negotiation, Mr. Sylus. You’re here because you value her life more than that shiny toy."

Sylus clenches his jaw but doesn’t let the facade crack. "Funny, I thought this was about business. Threats feel… beneath you, Rudy."

Rudy laughs, a harsh bark of sound. "Oh no, Mr. Sylus. I prefer to think of them as... persuasion. But let’s not waste each other’s time. Hand it over, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll let your kitten leave with all her limbs intact."

No matter how much Sylus tries to stay calm, the tension in his body is impossible to hide. The guards on the second floor feel it—something about him puts them on edge. Sweat drips down their faces as their fingers tighten on the triggers. A guard shifts his weight, the leather of his holster creaking. Another swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. Somewhere in the distance, a pipe drips, the slow, rhythmic sound like a countdown to something inevitable. Despite the tension, he easily recovers his posture loose, almost lazy.

"How about you prove she’s alive first?" Sylus says smoothly, cocking an eyebrow. "I don’t hand over priceless artifacts on promises."

Rudy leans back, taking another drag of his cigarette, the smoke trailing lazily upward as he considers what he said. The embers of his cigarette burn bright for a moment, glowing before he flicks the ashes to the floor. The silence between the two men is hard to decipher. Rudy should be tempered right now; the last time he saw Sylus, he felt as if his soul had died under the intense and murderous gaze. But seeing that he is still alive and Sylus wants to negotiate, his plan is working. He has him where he wants him.

Then, finally, Rudy chuckles.

____

On the other side of the warehouse, Luke and Kieran slip through the shadows, their movements perfectly in sync. Shadows wrap around Kieran like smoke, merging with the dim light. Luke moves just as smoothly, and together, their actions flow in eerie harmony.

Images flicker; Luke sees the world through Kieran’s eyes for a moment, catching a glimpse of a patrolling guard rounding the next corner. The shared vision snaps back to normal just as quickly, the information exchanged without words.

Two guards drop in quick succession, their bodies hitting the ground without a sound. Kieran’s shadowy form dissolves from one target and reappears behind the next in a seamless blur of movement. Before the second guard can react, Luke is already there, his hand clamping over the man’s mouth as he drags him into the darkness.

"Got it" Luke mutters, plucking the intercom from the unconscious guard’s belt. He tucks it into his jacket, the faint crackle of radio chatter now within reach. "If more show up, we’ll know."

“Who said you can take it?” Kieran complains, crossing his arms.

"Seriously, are you going to be like that now?"

Kieran doesn’t budge. Luke sighs. "Okay, rock, paper, scissors." They square up, fists bouncing in sync—one, two, three. Luke grins as he unveils paper over Kieran’s rock. "I win. You shouldn’t be so predictable."

“Maaan…” the other one cries.

Luke lets out a quiet chuckle before giving Kieran a light punch on the arm—a wordless signal to focus. "Come on. By the way, this is like when we escaped,” Luke whispers with a faint humor. “Except, you know... in reverse.”

Kieran laughs softly. “That shitty place. Hope to not see anything like that again.” He pauses for a moment. “I... hope Miss is fine.”

Luke glances at him briefly. “She’s tough. If anyone can hold out, it’s her.”

Ever since you came into their boss’s life, things have changed, for the better. For the first time in a long while, they’ve even had vacations. They both enjoy having you around. Making them cookies, messing around. The base has felt warmer. There’s more laughter, more moments of ease, small things that never used to exist in their world. You’ve brought something different, something they didn’t realize they were missing. It’s like having a family. Eventually, they’ve put in some effort to nudge you closer to their boss. On one hand, it was entertaining; on the other, it was frustrating and painful to watch Sylus hesitate to make a move. So when you asked for help with his Christmas gift, they saw it as a sign of progress—an opportunity they couldn’t pass up.

In fact, they were so invested that they even read “How to Match a Friend with Your Boss: Volume 1.” The two little devils had even placed a bet between themselves on when—finally—one of you would make the first move. One night, the speakers in the base randomly started playing love songs whenever you and Sylus were in the same room. Another push they made was, accidentally locked you and Sylus inside the armory. The "broken" door mysteriously fixed itself an hour later, just after they were sure you'd spent enough time together. Unfortunately for them, instead of sharing a heart-to-heart, you two spent the entire time sharpening knives and silently plotting revenge. On Christmas morning, unable to contain their curiosity, they couldn’t resist spying on you, eager to see if their matchmaking efforts had finally paid off.

Though, pranking you has become their favorite hobby, whether it’s putting you in embarrassing situations or setting you up for harmless chaos. The fake gun incident? That was their masterpiece. They laughed about it for an entire month—until Sylus caught wind of it. He didn’t find it funny. Not even a bit. That stunt cost them another month of dirty work. But totally worth it.

The intercom crackles faintly with static, and a voice speaks—Rudy’s, smug and condescending. “...Hand it over, or I might just let her screams be my answer.”

“Let’s begin.” Kieran plays with his knife. Luke exhales, the knot of tension between them loosening slightly as he nods. “If it gets messy, call for me.”

“You’ll feel it before I even say a word. Stick to the plan. See you later.” Kieran says with a faint smirk. Luke nods. Going separately is risky, but they must cover as much ground as possible as quickly as possible.

From the blueprint they obtained of the building, it’s clear that it has only two floors. The hangar, where Sylus is located, occupies half of the space, meaning the search is concentrated on the west side of the building. The escape route is planned to utilize the exits farthest from his location, with the three vehicles stationed several miles away for a swift getaway. The extraction must be executed silently, without raising any alarms. As soon as they find you, the twins must place several explosives on each wall they find. Sylus would take care of the rest. Luke grips the stolen intercom, listening intently for any signs of movement. Static hums faintly in the background, broken by clipped voices giving routine updates. None of them mention you.

“Miss, hang on” he mutters under his breath as he moves forward.

Kieran, meanwhile, slips through the warehouse’s shadowy corners. The patrols are heavier near the upper levels, their routes predictable but overlapping just enough to require precision. He takes out another guard with practiced ease, catching him mid-turn and lowering him silently to the ground.

Through their shared link, Luke catches flashes of Kieran’s perspective. The glow of dim lights overhead, the glint of a rifle slung across another guard’s shoulder. Their connection buzzes faintly with pain as Kieran twists his arm taking down the guard, but it’s fleeting. As the twins work their separate paths through the building, the tension mounts. The clock is ticking.

Luke presses himself against the cold concrete wall. Voices drift toward him from the nearby hallway, the tone is casual, as if the men were discussing a routine chore rather than the horrors they’d witnessed.

Did you hear her earlier?" one of the guards asks, his tone disturbingly casual. "The screaming?"

The second man snorts, a cruel smirk in his voice. "How could I not? Sounded like she was being ripped apart."

The first guard chuckles darkly. "Maybe she is. You know how they work. Strip 'em down, break 'em bit by bit. See what makes 'em tick."

The second man shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah… I just hope I never have to set foot in that room.

The first guard scoffs. "Whatever they’re doing down there… Better she than us.”

Their voices fade as they move away. Luke clenches his fists, his pulse pounding in his ears. On the map there weren’t any other levels. You’re close, but whatever they’re doing to you is worse than he’d imagined. He takes a slow breath, forcing his racing thoughts into focus. Carefully, Luke slips back into the shadows, the guards’ words replaying in his mind as he begins mapping the fastest way to find his way to the secret level. Their words scrape against old wounds, unearthing memories he’d buried long ago. The dim corridor wraps around him replaced by sterile white panels and harsh fluorescent lights in his mind’s eye.

The suffocating chemical smell clings to the back of his throat mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood. He can still feel the cold bite of the operating table beneath him, the relentless glare of overhead lights burning into his retinas. The sharp sting of needles pierces his skin, over and over, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Wires snake around his arms, his chest, his temples—binding him in place, making him nothing more than a collection of data points on a screen. The chilling indifference of the scientists hovering over him is worse than the pain itself. Their gloved hands adjust machines, press buttons, scribble notes. Dissecting. Measuring. Recording.

“Monozygotic Twin Comparative Test Record. Subject ID 808” the sound of the AI announced the start of the experiment.

Luke barely has time to brace himself before the first jolt rips through his body. His back arches involuntarily, muscles spasming against the restraints as electricity courses through his veins. His teeth grind together, a strangled noise caught in his throat.

"Subject Luke shows resistance to pain stimulation. Increase voltage."

He sucks in a sharp breath. He won’t scream. They won’t get that from him. Beside him, Kieran trembles, his fingers twitching, his breathing unsteady.

"Subject Kieran exhibits unusual synchronization. Further testing required."

Luke turns his head, just barely, his vision swimming. Kieran’s eyes meet his—wide, glassy, filled with something Luke refuses to name. Perhaps that was the moment when they lost part of their humanity, the fear of pain, the fear of dying. The machines whir louder. The wires tighten. And the pain starts again.

"We’re not gonna die here" Kieran had whispered, even as blood dripped from his lips. "They can’t break us."

The words were a promise, and together, they’d torn themselves free from that hell. But now, standing in this warehouse, hearing the guards laugh about you—another lab subject under the same cruel gaze—it’s too close. Too familiar. Luke swallows the bile rising in his throat, forcing the memories to the back of his mind. He forces himself to focus.

He presses his earpiece. “Kieran, there’s a basement.”

Static hums before Kieran responds. “That means it’s off the grid.” Pause. “Look for vents, false walls, or heavy-duty locks that don’t match the others.”

He retraces his steps, moving back toward where the guards had come from. If they were heading up, that meant they had come from another corridor. The building is massive, and finding the access point won’t be immediate. He scans the corridor, his eyes tracing the seams of the walls, searching for anything out of place.

Then, after what feels like too long, moving through the building, his eyes lands on a reinforced door at the far end. It’s heavier than the others, built to contain rather than just secure. Luke grits his teeth, his frustration mounting. A keypad. Of course. What's the code for this thing? It wouldn’t be written down somewhere obvious, and finding a guard and beating out the code would take time he didn’t have. Luke crouches, examining the keypad. The numbers are worn, some more than others. 1. 3. 5. 6. 8. He exhales, fingers hovering over the keys. Too many possible combinations. Then he notices it—a smudge. Grease, faint but there. Fresh. He smirks. Got you.

With practiced speed, he keys in 8-3-1-6. A pause. A beep. Red light. Wrong code. Luke clenches his jaw. Fine. 6-1-3-8. Another beep. Still wrong. Shit. His pulse slams in his ears. He glances over his shoulder. The hallway behind him is still empty, but that won’t last. His window of opportunity is closing fast. He swallows, eyes darting over the keypad. Think, think, think. Failing a third time could lock down the system of the door or worse—trigger an alarm.

Maybe he could hack the port? Too risky—especially alone, without backup. Breaking it? Just as bad. Every option feels like a gamble, and right now, he doesn’t have the luxury of making the wrong choice. A low rustle creeps through the walls. Footsteps. Close. Luke’s stomach tightens. Time is running out.

The stolen intercom hums softly “Sector Four, report in.” His mind races. What if…? A quick breath. He taps the receiver twice, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Hey” he mutters in his best steady voice, forcing an air of nonchalance. “This is Jensen from Sector Four. I’ve got a problem here with the door. It’s locked up tighter than a vault. What’s the code for this thing again?”

A brief silence, then a crackled reply. “Who’s this?”

Luke freezes for half a second, then answers quickly, not skipping a beat, “Jensen, man. I’m on the floor. They sent me in to clean the mess downstairs.”

A pause. “You’re supposed to know the code already.” the voice snaps. Shit.

Luke forces himself to sound confident, dropping any hint of hesitation. “Right, right. But the keypad’s glitching, and I don’t want to mess things up. Got the code?” Another pause.

“Why did they send you down?” the guard asks suspiciously. Luke’s eyes flick to the corner of the room, spotting a puddle of something foul that hasn’t been cleaned up in days.

"Look, man" he says, his voice low and raspy, "you don’t even want to know. They told me that the whole damn cell is soaked with… I don't know what they're doing down there but it smells all the way here. It’s got this rancid, sour stench. Just give me the code, alright? I’ve had enough of this shit.

He lets out a fake gag, the sound cutting through the static. There’s a long silence on the other end. Luke can hear the guard shifting uncomfortably. Then the voice cracks, sounding more disgusted than angry. “Goddamit, I’m eating. Fuck… Alright. It’s 1-8-3-6. Hurry up!”

Luke’s heart races as he taps in the numbers. Beep. Green light. The lock clicks open. “Best man…” he says with a breath of relief, then cuts the connection. Then yanks open the door, stepping inside as silently as he can, just as the first pair of boots rounds the corner. He leans against the door. That was too close.

He moves swiftly through the dimly lit corridors. The acrid scent of disinfectants becomes almost overwhelming. This isn’t just a basement—it’s a lab. Temporary, hastily set up, but a lab nonetheless. His eyes narrow as he takes in the details: exposed wires snaking across the ceiling, mismatched equipment buzzing faintly in the corners.

“This isn’t Rudy’s work,” Luke mutters under his breath. “He doesn’t have the brain for this.” He grips the stolen intercom tighter, every muscle tense as he listens for the slightest sound. Something about this whole setup feels wrong—the precision, the high-end gear. He exhales slowly, focusing on the shared connection with Kieran. The flicker of his brother’s vision overtakes his own, revealing rows of weapons gleaming under fluorescent lights. For a moment, Luke’s breath catches. Of course, Kieran would find it first. Always the one with the luck to stumble into treasures. A flicker of jealousy sparks in his chest. If Kieran’s the one armed to the teeth, then fine—he’ll just make sure he’s the one who gets to you first. Seems fair.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps from around the corner. Guards. They don't notice Luke at first, too caught up in their conversation. He slips into an opening, quiet as a ghost, his fingers curling around the knife at his belt. The blade catches the dim light, a quick gleam before he tightens his grip. Without hesitation, Luke’s hand shoots out, grabbing the man by the throat, using his momentum to slam him against the wall. The guard gasps, his gun clattering to the floor, but Luke silences him quickly.

The second guard reacts too late, rushing forward with a yell. Luke ducks low, letting the man’s fist swing over his head. With a swift motion, he twists his body, delivering a precise strike to the guard’s abdomen with the knife’s hilt. The guard staggers back, air knocked out of him, but Luke doesn’t give him a chance to recover. With brutal efficiency, Luke sweeps his leg, sending the guard crashing to the floor. In one fluid motion, he’s on top of him, knife at his throat. The guard freezes, eyes wide with fear. The man stutters. Luke presses the blade tighter, the sharp edge sinking just enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“Where is she?” The guard hesitates, his eyes darting around as if searching for an escape. But there’s nowhere to run. Luke leans in closer, the pressure mounting. “Where. Is. The girl?”

The guard swallows hard, his voice trembling. “D-down the hall… In one of the cells... please…”

“Who runs the lab?” The guard’s eyes widen in fear, his hand trembling as he tries to back away, but Luke’s grip is firm, unyielding. His breath came in ragged gasps.

“I-I don’t know! I swear, I just follow orders!”

“One last chance. Who runs the lab?”

Under the mask Luke’s gaze hardens. “Wrong answer”

In one swift motion, Luke drives the knife deep into the man’s throat. The guard’s eyes widen in shock before his body goes limp, blood pooling beneath him. Luke stands, wiping the blood from his blade. He looks down at the lifeless body for a moment, then turns to the first guard, still unconscious against the wall. He shouldn't have created this mess, it draws too much attention. But luckily he is used to making bodies disappear in record time.

Luke walks away, his steps light and purposeful, as if nothing happened. The sound of his whistling fills the silence of the hallway, a stark contrast to the cold, lifeless body left behind hidden in a room. His posture is relaxed, almost casual, as though he hadn’t just taken a life in a heartbeat.

A/N: I loved writing this chapter because it reveals a little about how the twins feel about you and all the effort they’re putting into finding you. But I’m even more excited about what’s coming in Chapter 3. At this point, I still have a one last part to develop. Chapter 4 & 5 will take me some time since it’s a section I hadn’t originally planned. I'll appreciate your patience.

NEXT WEEK > Chapter 3: Prove to me that you're stronger

Thank you for reading ❤

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