Punishment Halls

At first it was barely a fireball, though its center burned with such an intense white that she felt her irises being seared at sight alone. She had to half-cover her eyes with the back of her hand, struggling to maintain her gaze on the phenomenon. Through squinted lids, she was sure to have witnessed it, the orb at Sunshine Recorder’s core splitting open like a blooming crystal flower.

Terrifyingly quickly, the nascent spark exploded into a miniature star. The warehouse was bathed in searing light as waves of heat rolled outward, swallowing Apollo’s figure under its expanding inferno —impassive and impervious to the raging heat consuming everything in its path.

One by one, the metal shelves nearest to the growing blaze twisted and warped, their structures buckling before being consumed by the ravenous fires.

She couldn’t help but stumble backwards, her eyes watering from the intense splendor and her lungs burning with each agitated breath. Even the sweat that poured down her face evaporated almost instantly once it touched the scorching floor. Crates not even directly next in the inferno’s wake burst into flame, their contents adding fuel to the growing conflagration and leaving Koral in stunned disbelief.

The concrete walls of the warehouse glowed an angry red, small fissures appearing as the extreme heat caused the material to expand and crack. The ceiling, a mix of corrugated metal and insulation, fared far worse, with its panels warping and peeling away —raining molten debris onto the firestorm below.

Koral frantically searched for any way to counter this overwhelming display of power, finding herself at a complete loss as the miniature sun continued to expand, pushing inexorably towards them. Her abilities, her training, even her indomitable will —none of them mattered in the face of this apocalyptic advance that now dwarfed them in size.

How could they possibly hope to survive this?

Could she even regenerate her flesh if this thing were to reach her?

The instinct to flee clawed at her mind, prevailing over any other thought. Let the old man have his win. Bitter as it was, surrender seemed a far less severe conclusion than sacrificing all of her ambitions in a foolish death. They had done their best; this was their limit.

But just as she prepared herself to run away, a rustle of fabric drew her attention back to Kyros. He had discarded his shirt and closed his, deeply inhaling and exhaling as if preparing for something. His scarred chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm, a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding them.

“Have you lost your fucking mind!?” Koral hissed, incredulous. While she wasn’t privy to whatever kind of insanity Kyros was up to, facing this ever-growing monstrosity head-on was suicide.

The three crescent-shaped scars on his torso were now in full display, though this time they pulsed ominously, seeping a menacing black haze —like a dark miasma painfully seeking its way from beneath his flesh.

“Contain it” Came the irresponsible words from the hitman, his muscles tensing as two of the Stone Aethyrs began to distort from their usual inactivity. “I only need you to buy me some time.”

>> “I’m not about to let things end this way.”

The heat continued to escalate with each wasted second, making her throat feel like sandpaper as she struggled to form a response.

“That’s easy to say, you braindead piece of shit!” She eventually spat, trembling at the mere suggestion of not throwing in the towel yet. “That thing is too fucking huge! I can’t!” Her voice cracked, fear and frustration transparently exposed. “What happens once your half-baked plan goes up in smoke alongside us!?”

Kyros grunted in agony, falling to his knees as two of the Stone Aethyrs ruptured from his flesh, slowly revealing their true shape —eyes. One half-lidded, the other fully open, both pulsed with an otherworldly energy that made Koral's skin crawl.

“I’m counting on you, Koral. I know you won’t let me down.”

The black glyphs were a nightmarish sight —jagged slits that drank from the light around them, and veins of dark energy webbing across their surface like cracks in ancient stone. They twitched and rolled independent of each other, of Kyros’ own heartbeat…

Yes, they were indeed very much alive, just like any other Punisher… Had they only been asleep this whole time?

Not like she had the time to study them in detail.

“Kyros, goddammit!” She chided, desperately trying to make him see reason, but it was clear that he wasn’t listening anymore. “I… I can’t believe this!”

>> “F—… Fuck!”

Resigned to their shared madness, Koral turned herself to face the miniature sun. Its searing light forced her eyes to squint, the shimmering air distorting everything ahead. With a thought, she commanded Hush to take position in front of her, the Punisher’s flowing blue hair making the intense heat look even more like a disorientating daydream.

This was it… They were about to die —a fate she chose every time over abandoning her brother. Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as she steeled herself for what was to come. If this was to be her end, she’d go down fighting tooth and nail until the last breath.

Inferno roared towards her, an insurmountable force of nature… Yet Koral stood her ground, Hush’s ghostly form her last bastion against the approaching reckoning.

The warehouse air thickened like a furnace, making Koral’s lungs burn with each breath. Her throat constricted painfully as she gulped, still in disbelief at attempting this insane gambit. But there was no turning back now. With a thought, she extended Hush’s blade forward, every nerve in her body tensing as she braced for the inevitable contact. There was a small mercy in the fact that there were no shared senses between Accursed and Punisher.

A streak of darkness caught her eye —the Aethyr eyes shooting past her like macabre comets. They plunged seamlessly into the miniature sun, swallowed by its incandescent photosphere without a trace. Behind her, she heard the dull thud of Kyros’ body hitting the floor, like a puppet with its strings abruptly cut.

Whatever arcane process was unfolding with the Stone glyphs was beyond her comprehension, and frankly, she had more pressing concerns demanding the attention of her pretty little head. Not being vaporized in the next few seconds, for example.

She had to mentally resist against Hush’s impulse to retreat, forcing her instead to stretch an arm forward, forming a needle-sharp point to pierce the blazing orb with. The instant in which touch was achieved, Koral reached fiercely within herself, summoning every ounce of her power to manipulate time. Her intention was to force Recorder’s attack backwards, to rewind its very existence… But its sheer density and mass proved overwhelming.

Instead of reversing its course, all she managed was to slow its insuppressible advance —and even that felt like trying to hold back an avalanche with her bare hands.

Each passing moment felt like living death over and over. Hush’s blade, once unyielding as forged steel, began to warp and bend under the relentless heat. The strain on Koral surpassed anything she’d ever experienced, pushing far beyond what she thought possible.

Vertigo slammed into her like a real blow, threatening to buckle her knees. Hot liquid poured from her nose in a steady stream —the nosebleed evaporating instantly under the searing air, leaving caked red stains on her skin.

Desperately, she commanded Hush to raise her second arm, trying to better contain the sun’s fury. Every cell in her body screamed for relief, but she couldn’t falter —not now. Silently, she pleaded for Kyros to hurry up with whatever mad scheme he had set in motion.

An ear-piercing scream shattered the inferno’s howl —Kyros, his voice raw with agony almost ruining Koral’s concentration. She almost faltered, her control wavering for a heart-stopping millisecond. Before she could process what was happening to him, another horrifying cry joined the first —unmistakably Apollo’s, emanating from within the red orb.

The dueling voices created a hellish chorus as the ground itself began to quake beneath her feet. Movements growing erratic, the start’s previously unimpeded growth gave to unstable, pulsing surges. She tried to capitalize on this shift by redoubling her efforts, but she still found herself being pushed back. Both of Hush’s arms had been reduced to little more than melting streams of ethereal essence, liquefying under the smoldering onslaught.

Her world had narrowed to a singular, all-consuming focus —Hold the line and survive. Each second was a battle unto itself, each minute a war.

The warehouse’s structure groaned ominously, a sound that only heralded disaster. With growing dread, she realized that even if Kyros somehow managed to dispel the miniature sun, the building itself would soon become another deadly threat. The very walls that contained their battle were now crumbling, weakened beyond their breaking point; and above them, the roof sagged dangerously, promising to rain fiery demise upon them at any moment.

As if responding to her fears, the blazing orb began to lose cohesion. Its previously perfect spherical shape distorted, tendrils of flame lashing out in chaotic patterns like the tentacles of a dying creature. Koral reached out to Hush with her mind, commanding her Punisher to form a protective barrier for her and Kyros. The ethereal hair, once flowing like liquid starlight, now spread inwards like a ghostly canopy, containing the raging flames racing around them in a devastating firestorm.

It was an absolute nightmare. The searing heat was enough to make her consciousness flicker, and only raw adrenaline kept her from fainting. As flaming debris fell from the rooftop, choking black smoke billowed through the warehouse, carrying with it an acrid cocktail of scents. Burnt plastic, scorched metal, and beneath it all… The sickening stench of calcined flesh —the bodies that had been there lifeless from the start now reduced down to their bones.

Kyros lay motionless on the ground beneath her and Hush, shielded by her efforts but showing no sign of regaining consciousness, though his previously released Add Aethyrs were returning to him after the items he had imbued them in ended up destroyed. A small part of her mind clung to hope by composing the blistering scolding she’d unleash on him once he woke up. Even this hellscape would pale in comparison to her fury.

With the fires gradually begin to settle, she took in ragged, painful intakes of air before peering through the gaps in Hush’s protective veil.

Sunshine Recorder was nowhere to be seen, its absence as startling as the devastation that surrounded her once she stepped out. This horrible place was now a charred and smoking ruin. The air hung thick with ash and the lingering smell of burnt ozone, making each breath a painful struggle —though she wasn’t sure if to blame it on the toxic atmosphere, or if instead her lungs had sustained damage she no longer had the strength to heal.

Her eyes traveled all the way towards the epicenter of the destruction, where Apollo remained kneeling. Blood was seeping from his eyes like crimson tears, staining her ravaged countenance, and two crescent shapes were branded deep into his neck and face —still glowing with residual vitality.

A spasm coming from him halted Koral in her tracks. Despite everything… The old man was not only alive but still conscious —though his eyes trembled neurotically, unfocused and haunted. He looked as if he had just traversed the very depths of hell and returned, his mind shattered by whatever had transpired within the voracious star.

The eerie ambiance of crackling flames and the sporadic groaning of the collapsing structure was suddenly pierced by a new noise. Her attention snapped away from Apollo as the sound of men shouting and tools screeching against metal reached her ears. The warehouse entrance, apparently sealed shut after melting, was now being assaulted from the outside —undoubtedly by cartel members insistently trying to force their way in.

Her official task returned to her mind with sharp clarity. The Medula scum, who had earlier cowered from engaging Apollo, were now more than eager to seize in his weakened state. He’d be an easy target, barely managing to breathe with his mind trapped in some unspeakable horror beyond description.

Complex emotions that she didn’t appreciate surged through her chest, leaving her conflicted. She was supposed to be unsparing and pitiless; Apollo’s fate shouldn’t have mattered to her even one tiny bit. Yet… as she looked at him now, this frail and broken, skeletons of emotion she thought flawlessly buried crawled their way to the surface.

Her gaze locked onto his terrified expression once more, allowing a blur across the lines between teacher and student, assassin and target. How many times had she resented him for wearing faces she couldn’t decipher? And there she was, probably mirroring those very inscrutable masks of him. Ironically, she had ignored such warnings many times before, thinking herself above sentimentality.

At that moment, Koral felt she understood him a little better, realizing that things were rarely as black and white as she’d liked them to be.

Tonight, Apollo made a fierce and clear stand. He had chosen to protect something more precious to him than his own life —willing himself to risk death rather than giving away whatever secrets he held. Despite knowing it was ill-conceived, Koral couldn’t suppress a conflicted empathy that demanded her intervention. After all, she too had suffered an irreplaceable loss before.

What right did anyone have to try and taint such conviction?

Before anyone could breach and witness what was about to unfold, Koral sent her Punisher gliding towards Apollo. Hush’s once-fluid movements now carried the weight of their shared ordeal, and both her arms had melted away, unlikely to reform any time soon. It meant they’d have to rely on the needle edges of her feet —grimly scraping the floor as the spectral maiden gradually gained speed.

She had the mercy to make the strike a swift one. Like a sentence being carried out, Hush’s foot punctured through Apollo’s chest with the unerring precision of a practiced executioner. With his heart pierced, he was robbed of a breathless gasp, trembling hands rising to meet the spectral weapon protruding from his torso. His eyes, previously lost in an unclear nightmare, sharpened with terrifying clarity in the face of impending demise.

Yet where many would have contorted and cried out in agony, Apollo instead exhaled with the solemnity of one who had made peace with his end —the dulled gold ringed with blood of his gaze meeting Koral’s one final time. Though distance separated them and no words could be spoken, for a fleeting moment, she was certain she saw the ghost of a smile touch his lips, accompanied by a slight nod. Acknowledgment. Perhaps even approval.

It was a gesture she found herself unable to return, her own emotions too tangled to ever hope to unravel.

As life ebbed away, Aethyrs dissipating to blemish his face no longer, unbidden memories resurfaced. His voice, stern yet irresponsibly paternal, echoing from a past that suddenly felt impossibly distant.

‘Don’t get so angry. It was a good job, you both won.’

The realization that no one would ever hear his reprimanding voice again struck her with the unexpected force of a tidal wave. In this ruined, godforsaken tomb, with the sounds of imminent intrusion growing ever louder, Koral bore witness to the fall of the man who had forged and tempered her blade. His passing brought her no triumph, no catharsis —only a hollow ache where satisfaction should’ve bloomed.

Despite emerging as the victors, Koral couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that the old man had somehow outplayed them all, even in death. As if some part of him, conscious or not, had already choreographed this resolution from the start. But so what if it was? Whether taking his life could be seen as a twisted graduation gift or not, it did feel like a repayment for a debt long-overdue. The ledger was now cleared, both for the tutelage and the sins.

With a grimace, she turned her attention to Kyros’ unconscious form. Overlooking the fatigue that wracked her body, she hooked her arm under his shoulders and hauled him upright —the dead weight threatening to topple them both. The groaning of stressed iron began to echo through the warehouse, signaling that their time had finally run out.

As the door finally crashed down with a thunderous boom, Koral began her oh-so-graceful retreat, looking like she’d just lost a fight against a chimney sweep. Though she didn’t look particularly battered or bloody, each step remained a battle against exhaustion and the burden of her companion —not to mention the indignity of having to present herself with burnt eyebrows and grimy stains marring her skin. A tragedy, indeed.

She could hear the bellowing and curses of her fellow Medula goons as they poured into the smoldering ruin, more concerned with containing the fires and claiming their prize, rather than bothering with the two worn teenagers limping away.

Their disgusting laughter soon gave way to confused shouts and angry expletives, making her try and fail to contain a smirk. Seemed like Christmas came early for the vultures, and all they got was a lump of very dead coal.

“Damn it all to hell!” Milo’s voice cut through the chaos like a petulant child’s wine at a funeral. He swooped in beside Koral once she finished dumping Kyros body in the backseat of Mauro’s car, his eyes darting between them and the commotion still raging behind. “With this, we’ll never know where the saint hid the kid.”

>> “La Flor is gonna chew me out so badly for this…” He added running a hand over his bald head, agitation clear in every movement.

Koral had to bite her tongue not to say ‘serves you right’, yet her mind still raced at the blabbermouthed man’s implications. So that’s what Apollo had been protecting? A child? Interesting. The thought of interrogating Milo was tempting. After all, he seemed to have absolutely no ability to withhold information…

However, she found herself oddly at peace with her ignorance. Without knowledge, there was nothing for the hounds to extract from her.

And that kid could keep the peaceful life their imbecilic old man had paved for them with his blood.

“Listen, I’m not gonna take the fall alone!” Nadaletti continued, his voice rising in pitch as panic set in, though she was well beyond it by that point. She simply tuned him out, more focused on arranging Kyros so he wouldn’t choke on his own drool before asking Mauro the favor of taking him away. “I had a promotion waiting for me in this gig succeeded.”

>> “Now I might never get it!”

At some point during his tirade, Don’t Go had materialized over Milo’s shoulders. Without hesitation, the chain fingers of the horrid and small Punisher extended like whips, constricting around Koral’s neck like the world’s least fun necklace.

“Tell me all you know about Solano’s daughter.” Milo’s voice dropped low, a far cry from his usual smarmy tone. This certainly seemed very important to him, enough to risk offending someone as dangerous as she was —though she’d have to wait for a good long rest to extend him her gratitude. “Spare me no detail.”

>> “Anything that he could’ve said during the course of the fight or your training under him.”

For now, Koral simply ignored the constraints around her neck and looked at him dead in the eye, as serious as she could be. Unyielding as Apollo.

“I don’t know anything about any kid.” She stated, her voice a monotone that brooked no argument. There was some odd satisfaction in this, in knowing that in the face of his ultimate defeat, she had inadvertently granted her mentor this small, final victory against their owners. The secret he guarded would die with him, beyond the reach of whatever Valerica’s ambition was. “And neither does Kyros.”

>> “We fought for our lives in there. There wasn’t room for questions or teatime chats. You can see what’s left of the place for yourself if you’re so curious.”

Milo opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a glare that promised violence if he pressed the issue. Exhausted as she was, she was more than ready to go another round if this clown insisted on pushing his luck.

The tension between them two stretched for a couple more seconds, a silent battle of wills that Milo, for all his desperation, was ill-equipped to win.

Don’t Go finally dissolved into nothingness once Nadaletti relented, his incessant rambling fading into the background noise of the desert. Koral’s attention quickly drifted away, his words becoming as meaningless as the whispers of arid dirt shifting in the wind.

Scoffing dismissively at the guy, she waited in her position for another moment until Mauro’s car receded into the distant darkness, biding her silent farewell to an unconscious branded fool she hoped to not see in a while —already dreading whatever discussion could go down if they were to reunite again.

And her? Well, she had a pending visit to pay before she could hitch a ride back to whichever soulless safe house awaited her at the end of the night.

The full moon hung high and distant in the smoke-stained sky, as indifferent to the men scurrying below as they were ignorant of its cold beauty. Koral’s uncaring eye brushed off their faceless masses, their frantic activities holding no more meaning to her than ants toiling around a trampled hill.

Silently, she extricated herself from the tumult, her feet carrying her by muscle memory toward a spot etched into her soul with cruel permanence. The utilitarian marking of her sister’s grave stood pitifully against the barren earth, a crude monument to a life severed far too young.

Years ago, her weak hands had fashioned this makeshift tomb, and now she lowered herself before as she had done so many times since.

There was some poetry to it. This desolate patch of desert had now claimed the two different lights who had guided her path —Kirana, whose radiant warmth had sustained her, and Apollo, whose searing lessons had forged her into a weapon.

Two suns now extinguished and replaced by a pale, cold penumbra.

Koral knew, with a certainty that settled in her bones like lead, that she could never hope to emulate either of them. Where they had shone with brilliant purpose, she felt more akin to the moon above —a distant reflection of a light not her own, forever tethered to the darkness that surrounded her. She was the negative image, the shadow self of a wholeness that no longer existed.

A frigid breeze swept across the nocturnal desert, cutting through her ill-fitted attire and chilling her to the core… Yet Koral welcomed the discomfort, finding a perverse peace in the biting cold. It seemed fitting that she should feel most at ease here, alone under the vast, unfettered sky; enveloped by a blackness as deep and unforgiving as the corruption that had taken hold of her heart.

Deep down she was aware that speaking to the dead was an exercise in futility. Kirana was long gone, and only her withering corpse remained buried under the unforgiving soil. But still, Koral found herself drawn to this place, the makeshift tomb marker serving as a tangible reminder that her sister had once been.

That the love and light she remembered wasn’t some fever dream conjured by a desperate mind.

More than that, it was a constant, gnawing echo of a grudge still left unsolved. As her fingers traced the rough edges of a crude cross, she reaffirmed the vow that kept her alive through countless dark nights and blood-soaked days. One day, she would extract payment for all of this.

The entire world —corrupt, cruel and rotten, would be forced to reckon with the consequences of snuffing out a light as pure as her sister’s.

For in her chest, she felt a flame still burning. Not the nurturing glow of Kirana, nor the purifying blaze of Apollo, but a cold fire of her own making. It was a light meant to dwell in the shadows, born in loss and rage…

… But it was hers alone.