I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

The grand doors to Raxus's sitting room swung open with a quiet hiss, and two figures stepped inside.

Their faces betrayed awe as their eyes darted from one side of the lavish room to the other. This was beyond anything they had imagined. The smooth, polished floors, the leather furniture, and the faint hum of holographic art pieces floating nearby—all of it screamed wealth and power.

Neither of them had ever dreamed they'd get this close to Raxus, let alone be allowed into his fortress.

"Feltin, you seeing this?" one of them whispered, nudging the first man. His voice was barely audible, as if afraid to disturb the air of luxury around them.

"I'm seeing it, Vale," Feltin replied, his tone low but tinged with excitement. He gestured toward the glass in Raxus's hand, its dark liquid swirling ominously. "That drink—Black Clover. They say a sip will take you to realms you can't even imagine."

"Highest realm ever," Vale agreed, his eye flickering faintly as he scanned the room.

Before they could say another word, Raxus rose from his seat, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. His presence alone was enough to silence them.

"Welcome scums," Raxus said, his voice smooth but carrying a dangerous edge. He took a slow step forward, his black drink swirling lazily in his hand. "I hear you have news for me. Something... interesting?"

Feltin stiffened immediately, his nervous energy barely contained. His hand twitched at his side as he tried to find his voice. "Y-yes, Lord Raxus," he stammered. "We—uh—we heard rumors you were looking for Slime Boy. And, uh... we think we saw someone—well, not him exactly—but someone with similar powers."

At the mention of Slime Boy, a shadow stirred in the corner of the room. Xylar emerged from the shadows, his movements deliberate and precise. His gaze bore into Feltin, silencing the man mid-sentence.

"How did she look?" Xylar asked sharply, his voice cutting through the tension. "Did she have blonde hair?"

"N-no," Feltin stuttered, shrinking slightly under Xylar's intense scrutiny. "She didn't look familiar. She's new—maybe from the other section."

Xylar took another step forward, his eyes narrowing. "Then where did your search lead?"

Feltin swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "We lost them," he admitted. "In the streets of the wasteland. But their strides—they weren't wandering. They were heading somewhere. They were purposeful."

Vale chimed in, sensing his partner faltering. "And they ran away when we approached," he added quickly. "They knew we were following them. That means they've got something—something everyone's after. If we find them, they'll lead us to Slime Boy."

Xylar's patience snapped. In one swift motion, he grabbed Feltin by the face, his fingers digging into the man's skin. "You lost them?" he growled, his voice dangerously low. "You let them escape?"

Feltin squirmed, his muffled cries barely audible. "W-we know what they look like!" he managed to mumble through Xylar's grip.

Xylar's eyes flicked to Vale. "Describe them."

Vale straightened, eager to prove his usefulness. "One of them had brown skin, dark hair. The other was lighter... and beautiful." His eye flickered, as if replaying the images in his mind.

Xylar shoved Feltin away, sending him stumbling back into Vale. "Pathetic," he muttered. "Get out of my sight."

The two men scrambled to their feet, fear etched across their faces. Without another word, they hurried out of the room, their footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Xylar turned to Raxus, a cold smile playing at his lips. "We're getting closer," he said, his tone laced with satisfaction. "Find the two women, and they'll lead us straight to Matilda and Slime Boy."

Raxus returned his smile, swirling his drink thoughtfully. "Seems the hunt is heating up. Just don't let your prey slip away again."

Xylar chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming. "They won't. Not this time."

******

The streets of the wasteland were quiet, the faint hum of distant machinery the only sound breaking the stillness.

Inside a modest, dimly lit house, Maze carried a plate of food toward a room at the back. Her footsteps were soft but deliberate as she approached the door, the weight of frustration pressing down on her shoulders.

"Steele," she called, pushing the door open with her elbow.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a cracked screen on the far wall. Steele sat in the corner, his massive frame hunched over, his head resting on his fist. He hadn't moved for days.

Maze's eyes darted to the untouched plate of food on the table beside him, its contents now cold and unappetizing. She hissed under her breath. "Still haven't eaten, huh?" she muttered.

Placing the fresh plate down, she grabbed the old one and turned to leave. But something about his silence—it was more oppressive than usual—made her stop. She turned back, setting the plate down with a sharp clatter.

"Alright, I've had enough of this," she snapped. "You've been sitting there for days, doing nothing. Not eating, not talking. And why? Because of one fight? Because of one suspect?"

Her words hung in the air, but Steele remained motionless, his head still resting on his fist. Maze's frustration bubbled over. "You're the great Steele, aren't you? The unstoppable Enforcer of Drakoria? And now you're sulking like a child because—"

She didn't finish her sentence. Her fingers brushed against his arm as she gestured, and the moment her skin made contact, a jolt of electricity surged through her. She yelped, stumbling back and clutching her hand.

"What the—" she started, but her words died in her throat as Steele's eyes snapped open.

They weren't the familiar green she had grown accustomed to. They were red—vivid, glowing, predatory.

Maze's breath hitched. "What the hell?" she whispered, taking an involuntary step back.

Steele turned his head slowly, his gaze locking onto hers. The air in the room seemed to thicken, a suffocating weight pressing down on Maze as she stared into those unnatural eyes.

"Steele?" she ventured, her voice trembling.

He didn't respond. His body was rigid, his muscles taut as if holding back something primal.

Maze's mind raced. 'This isn't normal. What's wrong with him? What's happening?' Her fingers twitched at her side, her instincts screaming at her to run, but she forced herself to stay rooted in place.

"You need to snap out of this," she said, her voice steadier now. "Whatever's going on, you need to get a grip."

Steele's lips parted slightly, and for a moment, Maze thought he might respond. But the low, guttural growl that emerged instead sent a chill down her spine.

Her heart pounded as she took another cautious step back. "Okay," she said, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "Okay, we're going to figure this out. Just... stay there."

But Steele wasn't listening. His red eyes burned brighter, his growl deepening. Maze could feel the static charge in the air, the same electricity that had shocked her earlier now pulsing like a storm waiting to break.

He was not Steele right now, she realized, panic creeping into her thoughts. He was something else.

As the tension in the room reached its breaking point, Maze couldn't help but mutter under her breath, "What the hell have you become?"