lnds archives

You maneuvered your motorbike through the crowded thoroughfares of Linkon City. You didn’t even have a solid destination in mind, heading in the general direction of chaos.

You were perhaps a couple of blocks away before the road was jammed by a turned-over truck. In one smooth motion, you discarded your vehicle, tossed aside your helmet, and resumed on foot. The sound of explosions and screams made you pick up your pace until you were running at full speed.

Smog filled your nostrils as you came up on the wreckage. An office building burned to you left. Someone was shrieking in abject terror to your right. The sky had turned to scorched iron, pulsing with red and gold, as if the heavens themselves couldn’t decide whether to bleed or burn.

Somewhere in the center of it all—him. The Harbinger of Doomsday himself. And the one person in this entire city you’d trust your life with. As much as you’d rather mope around in your room and never show your face again, you couldn't just stand by and watch.

He was airborne, vast and elemental, a silhouette cleaved from storm-clouds and hellfire. His wings—luminous and jagged at the edges—beat with a force that rattled window panes miles away. The scales along his spine shimmered with obsidian sheen, and his eyes glowed like coals banked too long. He looked like a deity sculpted from dusk.

Yet this was the same creature that had held you as you slept—who cooked for you in silence, who watched you laugh with that infinitesimal tilt of his lips. Every line of him—raw, massive, and magnificent—shouted Sylus in ways only your soul could comprehend.

Vaguely, you remembered a quote from an old movie you saw as a teen. It was one of those indie flicks, with a rusty color palette and a pair of nihilistic vampiric lovers for protagonists. And the quote had gone something like:

When you separate an entwined particle and you move both parts away from the other, even at opposite ends of the universe, if you alter or affect one, the other will be identically altered or affected.

That’s it, that must be it. Somewhere in the vast expanse of the universe, some time both long ago and not yet come to pass, atoms aligned just right to birth an ever-constant law: whatever substance constituted your being—it was bound to love this man unconditionally, irrevocably—to seek out your other self, your shadow, as sure as gravity pulls you to the Earth. Because how else could one explain what was happening to you? What had happened and would repeat in your every lifetime, ad infinitum?

Figures in the corner of your eye snapped you out of your reverie—figures clad in uniform, undeterred by the destruction around them.

From the rooftops, the Hunters launched—four of them, rigged in light armor designed for vertical assault. They moved in a cross-formation, anchoring to their marks with wireline harpoons and magnetic grips. Sylus soared above the burning city, his wings a great black shadow cut against the drifting ash, his movements erratic under Voss’s influence. They met him midair.

The first line wrapped around the base of his right wing. The second found his ankle. The third embedded in the soft membrane beneath his spine. Each wireline was charged with suppressive current—meant to disrupt motion. Shock first, then collapse.

He roared, but it was a strangled sound, fury filtered through exhaustion. His body seized in violent recoil, and for a moment it looked as though the sky itself might break beneath him.

He crash-landed, wings flailing, battering wind currents, slamming against antennae and glass towers on the way down. Buildings groaned under the force of his body’s inertia. Before the plaza met him in a spray of shattered stone and fractured earth.

The impact left eerie silence in its wake, like the vacuum of sound that follows a big explosion. His form crumpled at the center of the impact crater. Steam rose from the seams in his scaled body.

Four of the Hunters remained. One raised a sword, two-handed. Another stepped forward with a wand ablaze with their Evol. There was a flash of light, like a comet slicing through the air, that you instantly recognized.

You raised a hand without thinking, a wall of force snapping into place just as a beam of light crashed against it. Sparks fanned out across the smoke.

None other than Xavier materialized a second later, expression taut with frustration, light-etched sword still humming. His eyes were a stormy blue and held no warmth as he regarded you. “Y/N.”

You had nothing against him—really, you didn’t. If anything, his less-than-conventional behavior around HQ had landed him quite high on the admittedly short list of colleagues you wouldn’t mind teaming up with. He looked harmless enough, half-asleep most of the times you bumped into him, but you were smart enough to know that there was much, much more than met the eye. If only people gossiped about you with the same sort of awe they reserved for gossiping about him. 

The Hunters slowly surrounding you weren’t machines—that would have been easier. Machines didn’t believe they were doing good. The protocol was clear: See a threat to civilians, eradicate it. They didn’t see Sylus. They saw a Wanderer. And in their world, that made him dead already.

As you planted yourself firmly between Sylus and Xavier, the latter’s indifference sent a flare of anger up your spine.

“I’m afraid I cannot let you do this,” you said, your voice rising above the noise of another detonation in the distance.

Xavier’s blade lowered half an inch. “Why is that?”

“Would you listen to me if I told you?”

“Please, Y/N, don’t make this harder than it has to be,” came a feminine voice. Naturally, where there was Xavier, his partner—MC—was never far behind. The blond man was half-blocking her view, unwilling to let any harm come her way. But as she peered over his shoulder, your gaze met hers, and you could see—evident on her sorrowful expression and innocent eyes—she pitied you. She probably thought you were a misguided thing, a pawn in a chess game manipulated by bigger, smarter players.

Another Hunter stepped forward, stance tense. “Stand down, Y/N. That thing’s a S-ranked threat. You’re lucky we’re too busy to bring you in right now.”

And something about how oblivious they were—how they were completely unfazed by the insidious machinations happening before their very eyes—rendered you irrationally, indescribably livid.

You’d spent years trying to follow these rules. You’d chipped away at yourself to fit into these neat angles, these holy absolutes. And this was what you got for it—not even the chance to plead your case.

Fuck that. You were fed up. Sick, exasperated. Filled with the kind of stone-cold rage like you’d been dropped into an ice lake.

The others could sense it. This ominous change in the atmosphere. It wasn’t the Wanderers, the rampaging Evolvers, or the fleeing masses.

Weapons surged around you, called to existence like faithful vassals—axes, spears, warhammers, blades of unreal size and shape, pulsing with the light of your unfettered will as they spun into orbit like moons around a celestial body.

The freedom was exhilarating. Your body and mind, having sloughed off the shackles of expectations, buzzed with energy. Your constructs flowed seamlessly from one form to another. Spears, blades, a mace with serrated edges. A short pike to disarm. A concussive disk to break cover. Members of the UNICORN Unit, elite soldiers in their own right, dealt you with their heaviest blows but succumbed to your deadly dance one by one—knocked unconscious amid the rubble or sent sprawling twenty feet away.

Out of the squad, only Xavier and MC remained. They were well-paired and well-trained, their chemistry undeniable as MC’s Evol amplified Xavier’s already impressive speed and strength. You moulded your constructs into a semi-transparent armor around yourself, narrowly avoiding flurries of slashes.

A part of you—the angry, fed-up part—wanted to cripple Xavier’s confident steps, but you resisted. Instead, you pivoted and swept MC’s legs with a low, fluid motion—just enough to send her stumbling. The girl landed hard but safe.

That did the trick; it sent Xavier into a frenzy, made him sloppy. You met his sword with a double-edged spear, both weapons locked in radiant clash. While his attention was on the frontal attack, you brought down a giant axe from above, forcing him to break the stalemate and fall back. 

You barely had time to catch your breath when the ground shook.

Sylus rose from the crater like a fury unchained, coils of restraint trailing from his limbs. His wings spread wide, dark and immense. The gleam in his eyes held no recognition. Only command. Whatever devious concoction Voss had brew up—it still held him.

And above it all, at the balcony of the ruined auction hall, stood the true villain of the story.

He looked absurdly at ease in his pristine suit, as though he weren’t responsible for an entire city’s suffering. One hand rested against the rail; the other lifted, gesturing toward the wreckage like a maestro conducting his finale. Behind him, masked attendees stood frozen in sick fascination.

“Behold,” Voss called, his voice magnified through unseen tech, calm as a man unveiling a painting. “The future of order. A dragon tamed by will alone. A city purged of dissent.”

The spectacle didn’t escape Xavier’s notice. He had heard words like those before, spoken from ivory towers and holy pulpits, from marble thrones and ruined gates—in his own family who had condemned his lover to countless deaths just to hang on to wretched immortality.

You saw it too. “My word might not be worth much right now,” you jerked your chin towards the councilman. “But trust me when I say I’d rather be fighting Voss right now.”

Xavier’s gaze rose again. The balcony, the decadence, the controlled chaos—there was too much precision in it. Too much anticipation.

“He was always too glib for my liking,” Xavier acquiesced, brows furrowed—somehow, he exuded the air of an old man with wary bones and one too many battle wounds. “I’ve seen this theater before. They always claim they’re building a better world—so long as they get to rule it.”

His blade dimmed. The hum faded. But he still kept the pressure on, staring you dead in the eye.

“If I let you do this, and anything happens to her,” he warned. “I will not hesitate to take your head.”

You nodded, expecting nothing less. “Fair enough.”

Just then, MC pulled herself upright, dusting off her uniform. Xavier turned toward her, his eyes softening, his hand flicking out. A thread of light connected him to her skin—Resonance stabilizing.

"Go. I’ll buy you time," he told you simply.

They came at you in waves. Voss’s mind-controlled Evolvers moved with the precision of a hive, blind to fear, to pain, to reason. A man with flames on his arms swung at your throat—you ducked, caught the arc of his swing with a spear, and drove the butt into his solar plexus, knocking the wind from him. Another came from behind, claws sharpened by some crude cybernetic graft; you caught his wrist in a bind, and used his own momentum to drive him into the pavement. Yet others took their place, stepping over each other to attack you like a horde of zombies.

Luckily for you, the twins had caught up by now—Luke shouting vector coordinates into your comm with rhythmic urgency, Kieran providing cover fire from an adjacent rooftop. “Another two floors,” Luke directed. “Voss is at the tower’s upper ledge!”

“I can’t get to him yet!” You shouted back, knocking aside a polearm aimed for your spine, your breath a hiss between clenched teeth.

Above them, the sky thundered. It seemed that a certain dragon hadn’t missed your approach. He circled once, above the chaos, before diving.

“Y/N, I just reviewed the footage Boss got from the auction—you need to get to that red gem Voss is holding,” Luke said, his voice distorted by static. “There’s no way we can beat him with that gem still intact.”

“Noted,” your answer was clipped. You couldn’t afford to lose your head now. Your eyes locked onto the tower’s spire where Voss raised the gem—a luminous core pulsing with malignant clarity. Its power hit the air like a tuning fork in your bones, calling to your Evol. Sylus shrieked, twisting mid-air as though caught in some invisible current.

Then he went straight for you.

You didn’t blink—planted your feet, launching a sequence of dull-edged blades in quick succession. They slammed into his side, knocking his trajectory off-center, but not stopping him. He veered towards the ground like a fallen Leviathan, concrete splintering beneath his mass. You were thrown back, shield flaring as a tsunami of rubble swept over you.

You rolled, scrambled to your feet just as he reared back. Claws slashed, straining your barrier. His roar was deafening, but it wasn’t hatred you heard—it was anguish. He was warring with himself as much as he was warring with you.

“Sylus,” You tried to call out, commanding your constructs to wrap around his torso like a brace. “It’s me!”

Heedless of your plea, he lunged, forcing you to counter. Your weapons reformed mid-strike, adjusting to his angles, your arms trembling under the sheer force of his might. You bit down on your bottom lip, drawing blood, as you pressed forward.

A flash overhead. Kieran again. “The gem!”

Voss, thrown off his feet by the tower’s shifting foundations, had dropped it. The gem tumbled from the spire, bouncing down the steps like a cursed relic looking for a new master.

You immediately released your constructs and sprinted. It was within reach. It was right there—

Sylus pursued, his roar producing a concussive shockwave that knocked you from your path. The gem skittered into the ruins. Gone. And his restraint went with it.

He came for you with fire curling from his throat. Desperate, you threw up a dual barrier, feeling your muscles burn with each passing second, halting his jaws inches from your face.

“Please!” You shouted, your voice hoarse with effort.

He pressed harder. The barrier cracked like porcelain. Your knees buckled, and in desperation, you rammed a gauntlet into his shoulder to dislodge his grip.

“We’ve been through too much for it to end like this. Do you hear me? You promised me you’d stay.”

In the debris below, Luke was desperately scanning for the gem with thermal imaging. Xavier joined them, his sword sheathed in prismatic light, his expression grim. He muttered into the comm: “We found it. One more minute.”

You were shaking. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold Sylus off. With a strained cry, you used the last of your strength to temporarily pin one of his wings to the wall. He whirled back, claws dragging furrows through concrete. His chest expanded with a thunderous breath, the fire coalescing again behind his bared fangs.

But when he charged, there was a minute shiver in his movement. At the last moment, his claws twisted, veering just enough to gouge the ground beside you instead of your chest. He loomed, the full shadow of his monstrous self thrown over you. The spines of his back rose and trembled.

Something cold and heavy coalesced in your open palm—rising from a blaze of smoke and fire, a nightmare given form. The Fiend Reaper.

Your fingers closed around its obsidian hilt—and in your grasp, it was reforged.

The blade deconstructed into shards, into dust, into energy that bled into your constructs like rivulets of blood into glass. You took it all in—his past, his fury, the full measure of what he was. From that storm of particle and flame, you brought into existence something new and infinitely more powerful—curved pylons of radiant matter that anchored themselves into the walls and ceiling, forming a shelter, a cradle. 

Around you, the tower groaned. Load-bearing beams had split under the pressure of a dragon’s might, and sections of the upper floors were sagging. Rubble poured in streams down the stairwells. The whole place was on the verge of collapse.

You kept your eyes squarely on Sylus.

 “You came here for me, remember? I wasn’t sure before, but I know now… I w-want us to have a chance—I want you!”

He snarled again, snapping his fangs just past your cheek. But he didn’t bite—he couldn’t bring himself to.

“It’ll all be okay,” you whispered, tears slipping down the sides of your face.

His snout was a hair’s breadth from your face, close enough for you to feel the heat boiling in his throat. Then—

Srng!

A pulse of energy slammed outward in a blinding flood of light. All the Evolvers around you collapsed, gasping for air like drowning men. The enchantment broke.

Sylus’s wings seized, then slackened—not gradually, but all at once, like a circuit breaker tripping.

He fell forward—talons scratched blindly into stone, scales unraveling. The transformation wasn't some elegant ballet of magic. It was biological, messy—joints recalibrating, bones shortening with audible protests. What remained was just a man—sweat-soaked, gray-faced, vibrating with the aftershocks of power withdrawal.

Inside his skull, phantom chains clinked like distant wind chimes. The gem lay in fragments. The hypnosis undone. And yet—

There you stood, backlit by smoldering debris, occupying the exact radius his fire should have sterilized. Not miraculously spared, but tenaciously present through your own doing.

His knees struck concrete with the dull thud of surrender. He hunched forward, elbows jittering against the rubble. Each breath rattled through odd corners of his lungs. He wanted to compress himself smaller and smaller until he became just another piece of wreckage.

But then— Your hands. Your fingers, gritty with soot and tacky with drying blood, found his human face. He twitched away, animal-quick, man-ashamed. "No," you said, pressing your forehead against his. "It’s okay. I’m here, I’m fine. We’re fine."

He locked his jaw. His palms hovered near your shoulders, wanting to create distance from a vertigo of emotions. The dizzying drop of being witnessed at his worst and not dismissed.

"I could have killed you," he said, consonants scraping like his voice had forgotten the words. "You should have—"

He pulled back, eyes flaring with something bitter, self-lacerating. “I was ready to burn you to cinders. That’s what I’m made for, Y/N. Destruction. I’m a cursed thing, a fucking monster.”

“But you didn’t,” you said softly. “I’m fine. Look—“

His laugh was sharp, wounded. “Only because you were faster. Stronger. Because you made me stop.”

“So what? All that matters to me is that you came back," you countered, shaking your head fervently. "You were fighting against yourself the whole time. I felt it, Sylus. Under all that rage and anguish, you were there,” A smile curved your lips. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen, even if you tried. You said it yourself—I’m just stubborn like that.”

He shifted to look elsewhere, but your hands tracked him like an inconvenient conscience. Your thumbs sketched incomplete circles through the grime on his cheeks, attentive in the way of someone repairing something delicate. His eyes closed. The air tasted like copper pennies left in the sun. His bones still hummed with the churning inferno of his inhuman self. “That was too close…” He still couldn’t shake the image from his mind. "If you hadn't— if they hadn't intervened—"

"But they did. And I did. And you stopped.” You leaned closer, the gap between you two thinning. Your breath ghosted across his face, warm against cooling sweat. "I told you, I won’t go down that easily. You taught me that—you showed me how strong I could be.”

"I used to think just seeing you would be enough," he admitted. "I thought if I could hear your voice one more time, I could let you go. But then you looked at me that first time in the café, and I knew I could never leave your side again. I love you so much it terrifies me. But that love—my love—it has teeth. It has claws. It is not safe. I don’t know if it ever will be.”

"It doesn’t have to be safe, Sylus," you chuckled. "It just needs to be yours… Because I love you, too.”