Punishment Halls

The full moon hung low and wide in the clear sky, casting an eerie pallor over the sprawling desert landscape. Koral’s boots crunched against the parched earth as she walked alongside Kyros and Milo, their silhouettes elongated under the uneven starlight —heavy atmosphere broken only by the occasional whisper of wind dancing across the barren terrain.

Of course she recognized it… This godforsaken building. How could she not?

Grimly, the warehouse stood brutally firm like a monument of pain and memories, an elegy to her shattered innocence. She fought to maintain her composure as they approached, refusing to let the ghosts of the past derail her from the task at hand.

Crossing the gap in the barbed wire perimeter made the teenager think of how much its coils resembled a morbid crown, a cruel adornment to the place that had taken so much from her. This was where it had all begun… And somewhere close beneath her feet lay her sister’s unmarked grave, a secret shared only between her and the man she now hunted.

Koral’s fists clenched at her sides, nails digging crescent marks into her palms. How many times had she returned here since that day? How many hours had she spent kneeling in the unforgiving sand, whispering apologies to someone who could no longer hear them?

But sure, even when this monstrous monolith pierced the heaven in sinister isolation, they were far from alone. Sleek SUVs and nondescript sedans surrounded the structure, scattered around with their occupants remaining well-hidden behind tinted glass.

Intel guys, no doubt, there to bear witness to whatever bloody resolution awaited them all. They had likely reached the place from tracking Apollo’s movements, and were now poised to report the outcome to their boss. These men weren’t there to help —not until the danger was either fully neutralized or running complete havoc instead.

It was for the better. They would only get in their way… But still, their presence felt bitterly like vultures circling a soon-to-be carcass.

“This is where I leave off too.” Milo said, his mocking smile having returned with surprising ease. “I’ll join your cheerleading squad like the coward I am.”

>> “Can’t run an interrogation without me, see? ‘sides, I’ve full faith you two will handle it just fine.”

Neither she nor Kyros bothered to respond. This, too, was an optimal resolution. Even with his own Punisher, they had no experience working alongside one another. He would rapidly become a liability —one whose demise Koral preferred to orchestrate herself in the future rather than witness as collateral damage tonight.

Still, as they drew closer to the gates, the teenager couldn’t help but retain a lingering sense of unease. Had the old man known how things would unfold? Had he deliberately chosen this place as their battleground, so steeped already in her sorrow as it was?

If the intention was to anger her… How could she not admire the calculated cruelty of such a move? But maybe she was reading too much into it, projecting meaning onto coincidence. The unavoidable truth was that this place was lonely and familiar to them both, where no innocent bystanders could come to complicate matters.

In the end, it didn’t matter one bit. Whatever Apollo’s intentions were, whatever mind games he might be playing, the stage was already set —this unforgiving desert, their arena.

Her focus narrowed, senses aware of every intake of air as they closed in on the warehouse. Somewhere within this concrete shell, the geezer awaited for them to arrive. Mentor, and tormentor. The man who had molded them into weapons, and against whom they must now turn that lethal edge.

Anticipation briefly weighed on her like a suffocating mantle, yet as her fingers landed on the cold metal of the door, she shed the last vestiges of anxiety away. The heavy entrance yawned open before them, a maw of darkness eager to swallow them whole. A wave of stagnant air assaulted her nose, leaving her unable to suppress a wince at the stench of charred flesh. It could only be him, disposing of whatever Cartel lackey that guarded the place before he got there.

Sighing to not be further distracted by the smell, Koral squared her shoulders and strode forward, leaving the starlit desert behind and plunging into the waiting abyss.

Their first steps into the oppressive darkness of the warehouse were followed by the resounding thud of the heavy metal door shutting behind them, snuffing out whatever meager moonlight filtered in through the outside. It was a void so absolute that Koral could barely distinguish her own hand in front of her face, so her fingers instinctively sought the reassuring coldness of the gun at her hip —though under such blackness, holding onto it would be as useless as her inert left eye.

Deprived of sight, her other senses heightened in response as she remained attentive for any potential sign of Sunshine Recorder’s presence. For as fast as the eagle Punisher could be, its brazen luminescence or the rustle of its mechanical wings would quickly betray its location in this lightless tomb.

Though Hush’s ability to resurrect her provided a macabre safety net, the prospect of dying even a temporary death in this patch-black mausoleum was far from comforting —despite holding an irrational belief that Apollo wouldn’t have set any furtive traps for them.

“It’s safe.” She murmured back to Kyros, positioning herself between him and the vast unknown before them. “Light the place.”

The reigning silence made easy to distinguish the sounds of Kyros kneeling behind her, though even that was swiftly eclipsed by the azure iridescence spreading from where his fingertips touched the concrete. The otherworldly light raced across the floor in intricate, angular patterns as the glyphs abandoned their Accursed’s flesh.

Koral watched impassively as the warehouse interior gradually materialized, illuminated by soft pulses of blue. Kyros’ Add Aethyrs clung to every surface they encountered in their wake, scaling walls and enveloping abandoned crates and shelves —their geometry casting rune-like shadows that danced and shifted with each throb, creating an almost hallucinatory atmosphere.

As the azure expanded, details emerged from the darkness like a photograph developing in real-time, brought to the surface world as if emerging from her nightmares. Dust motes swirled in the air, caught under the glow that revealed the ominous silhouettes of unidentifiable objects shrouded in tarps, and ancient bloodstains long since turned to rust-colored shadows.

But it was the evidence of fresh carnage that jumped to her attention more sharply. Charred corpses lay scattered about, their flesh blackened and twisted over the places that Recorder had struck. Unfortunate Cartel scum that bore the brunt end of Apollo’s abilities, the acrid smell flowing through the air serving as a nauseating reminder of the old man’s enduring lethality.

“Look at that, have you been busy in the kitchen again?” Koral taunted, pushing forward with unwavering confidence. The pulsing blue light shifted across her face in patchy patterns, lending an almost ethereal quality to her mocking expression —though her eyes conveyed only a freezingly cold resolve. “What’s the matter? Isn’t it too soon for a heartfelt family barbecue?”

There, seated on an ominously isolated chair at the center of this surreal stage, Apollo shifted his gaze from the intrusive lighting —as if he were merely an elderly neighbor disturbed from an afternoon nap, rather than the cornered predator he truly was.

As his tired eyes adjusted to the brightness, the two of them locked gazes. For a tense moment, their mutual bloodlust seemed to clash in the air between them, almost palpable like their Punishers themselves.

However, with a dismissive scoff, the silver-haired man was the one to break the silent standoff.

“Speaking from personal experience…” He began, his tone calm as if delivering just another washed-up lecture. “I’d advise not sticking to la Flor for too long.”

>> “Paranoia makes her unable to keep herself devoid of enemies, so she starts looking for them in every shadow. It is but a matter of time before you’re the ones she’s hunting.”

Koral laughed sarcastically at this poor attempt at… What? A warning? Comedy?

“Oh please…. Is this your pathetic ass trying to convinc—”

“Still…” Apollo interrupted her, his voice carrying that same melancholic parental energy that never failed to infuriate her. “This is quite the low blow, even coming from her.” His words seemed to hit Kyros harder, the young man remaining stonily silent despite the clear conflict raging behind his eyes. “Quite a resolution, don’t you think?”

>> “To have you two sent to finish me off…”

He paused to deliver a brief, bitter smile. It was an odd expression on his usually stoic face.

“She probably expects me to go softer against you… But well, don’t expect me to take death for granted just because I raised you two into kille—.”

The blast of a gunshot cut his words short, Koral’s weapon raised and fired with a speed not conveyed by her impassive expression. Who knew for sure? Perhaps he would’ve gotten distracted by his cliched monologue…

But ultimately it was a futile hope. Once the tension settled, her bullet hung suspended in mid-air, captured by Sunshine Recorder’s beak materializing from behind Apollo’s shoulders. Soon enough the projectile was swallowed, denying Koral any chance to manipulate its trajectory in the future.

Rising from his chair with a deliberate, calculated calmness, Apollo’s eyes locked onto Koral delivering a silent admonishment despite his complete lack of physical reaction to the sudden shot —his hand tucked comfortably inside a pocket in a posture of deceptive nonchalance. Behind his broad back, Recorder spread its wings proudly, its abrasive golden glow outmatching the blue of Kyros’ Aethyrs —the massive bird’s fiery gaze fixed upon the intruding hitmen.

“What? You interrupted me too.” Koral shrugged, a smug smile playing on her lips. “I figured you didn’t really wanna talk, so…”

“Have some patience. I’m almost done.” Apollo scolded, his voice hardening into the more familiar, unforgiving tone that she knew so well. “You two burdensome brats are out of your league. Old as I may be, you still lack the skill to defeat me.”

>> “If you get badly injured, retreat. I can’t promise I won’t react on instinct if you stay in my way.”

And that was the final affront necessary to make her fully snap.

“You arrogant piece of shit!” Koral snarled, her eyes blazing with unbridled fury. The mask of indifferent composure she had worn shattered like brittle glass, revealing the raw, seething anger that raged on beneath the surface. Her features contorted into ferocity, teeth bared in a primal display that seemed to transform her from a mere girl into something far more dangerous.

She wasted no further time to launch herself at Apollo, her body moving with a fluid grace that belied the storm of emotions roiling within, momentarily overtaken by the visual assault of Hush violently manifesting herself. The phantasmagoric mane of blue and white hair writhed like living tendrils under a nonexistent wind, ethereal edges solidifying as she mirrored Koral’s charge, only faster and deadlier —needle-like limbs gleaming wickedly under the contrasting orange and blue lights of the battleground.

Standing his ground, the old man remained unflinching in the face of the frantic assault. Recorder unfurled its mechanical wings, surging forward as Hush’s blades slashed through the air, meeting them in a resounding clash of metal against metal —fleeting showers of molten sparks erupting from the points of impact.

As recorder countered with razor-sharp talons to counter the equal viciousness of Hush’s blades, Koral seized the opportunity presented by their violent skirmish to launch her own offensive.

For them, battles involving Punishers tended to finish as soon as they began, most of them usually narrowing down to two possible outcomes. The first, against regular people, resulted in their targets being overwhelmed by forces they couldn’t see nor comprehend. On the other hand, those Accursed usually fell prey to an over-reliance on their spectral companions, power blinding them to more mundane threats like the one lead posed —despite it being just as lethal to their frail flesh.

So naturally, Koral’s mind raced to exploit any potential weakness in Apollo’s defense, born from the clashing Punishers that she now flanked. She lowered her center of gravity, muscles coiled like those of a jungle cat preparing to pounce. In fluid motions, she glided across the grimy floor in a vicious maneuver, seeking the perfect angle to deliver a decisive blow against her former mentor.

The orders to keep him alive flickered distantly in the back of her mind, a distant echo drowned by the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins.

But as she raised her gun to strike, she found herself stared down by the barrel of Apollo’s weapon —golden eyes tracking her every movement with disturbing precision, as if he had predicted them from the very start. For a heartbeat, surprise flickered across Koral’s face, presenting enough of a gap in her judgment for the old man to shoot first.

Deafening inside the enclosed space, the thunderclap served as a prelude for pain to explode in her hand, a singular bullet ripping through flesh and bone in a surgical display of marksmanship.

Three central fingers from her dominant hand were forcefully torn apart in a spray of blood, her weapon clattering to the floor as agony took the center stage of her mind. Blood poured from the ragged wounds, painting the concrete in crimson splatters. No matter how many times she had been hurt before, the searing agony still overwhelmed her senses, momentarily dimming her grasp on the situation.

Koral’s body reeled from the shock, forcing her to her knees as she clutched her mutilated hand. Yet through the haze of suffering she could still recognize Apollo’s intent with bitter clarity —he aimed to disarm her, to diminish the threat she posed, for any injury he inflicted now was but temporary. Hush would eventually knit her flesh and bone back together, though the teenager cursed herself for having to waste her second chances this carelessly.

Hush’s ability to rewind her wounds and manipulate objects wasn’t limitless. Though her limits were uncertain, and growing with time and usage, they hinged on the size and mass of what needed to be restored or altered —a threshold she had been far from approaching during her previous encounters.

Through training, she had learned to read the signs of overexertion, both in herself and her Punisher’s demeanor. Pushing too far led to a disorientating nausea and a feeling of illness, while Hush grew increasingly savage in her protectiveness.

Experience had taught her that she wasn’t as invincible and unfettered as she once thought herself to be.

Yet her eyes still burned with fierce resolve, refusing to let the fight end this soon. As her mangled fingers began to regenerate, Koral scrambled for the fallen weapon with her uninjured hand. Apollo, however, had other plans in mind.

Abruptly, she found her horizon suddenly encapsulated by the old man’s towering height, closing the distance between them with frightening speed. His boot ground cruelly against her undamaged fingers, an ensuing kick sending her gun skittering into unreachable darkness. Koral’s world narrowed to a pinpoint of agony as the old man readied himself for another assault, allowing her no quarter to recover —but she wasn’t alone.

Though his reaction was the tardiest of the three, Kyros had finally shed his last vestiges of hesitation, following her charge into the fray with a crimson ensemble of Withdraw Aethyrs enveloping his left arm. The ethereal armor was launched to deliver a fierce fist on their former mentor, in an attempt to separate him from Koral and grant her a much-needed reprieve.

As if their movements were telegraphed to him, Apollo reacted before the crimson hand was even close to his face. In one fluid motion, he kicked Koral’s chest away, denying her any chance to capitalize on Kyros’ intervention. Simultaneously, he pivoted to dodge the brunt of the Aethyrs’ assault, sweeping the young man’s feet from under him in the process.

Before Kyros could fall, the old man coiled his sole arm around the hitman’s naked one in a vice-like grip, resulting in a lock that threatened to dislocate the joint from its socket.

The warehouse echoed with Kyros’ pained gasp as Apollo applied a merciless amount of pressure, stepping over his neck to keep him on the ground. Koral, still reeling from the earlier hit, watched in frustration as their combined efforts ended so effortlessly challenged.

It made for an agonizingly tense halt, with the teenager struggling to regain her footing as her body continued resenting the blow. Kyros could only use his reinforced arm to keep himself from complete collapse, and Apollo kept him half-suspended as his grip focused its pressure on the young man’s wrist. Into this tense standstill, the old man seized the pause to continue his psychological warfare.

“Tell me…” Apollo broke the silence with a cold and measured voice. “Why did you imprint only nine blue Aethyrs to this place?” His piercing gaze traced a path along Kyros’ outstretched arm behind his back, analyzing every excruciating detail. “I’m noticing a disturbing lack of the tenth. For a moment, I thought you were laying down a trap.”

>> “Are you tracking another target? No, you don’t have the brains to two-time like that.”

The accusation was left to hang in the air for a handful, yet it wasn’t enough time for Koral to pick up whatever he was trying to imply.

“Is it that you’ve found someone you want to keep safe? I wouldn’t be surprised, since you’re a young one. Passionate and naive.”

Koral felt her rage building to a fever pitch at the realization that Apollo was still comfortably toying with them, treating their life-or-death struggle as a casual opportunity to dissect their shortcomings and laugh. The world seemed to close in around her, unable to contain the murderous impulse screaming for release.

Parrying and deflecting a final lunge from Recorder, Hush disengaged the eagle in a blur of motion just as Koral’s fingers closed around a concealed knife at the side of her ankle. As one, Punisher and Accursed launched themselves at Apollo from opposite sides, a pincer attack both desperate and furious.

Concomitantly, Kyros’ armored right limb erupted in a violent explosion of red spikes —leaving Apollo in a conjoined three-way assault, each attack promising devastation.

Forced to retreat from the crimson surge, Apollo avoided the forest of deadly needles narrowly. His sole arm shot out to capture one of Hush’s ethereal blades, ducking the second by a hair’s breadth. The spectral edge sliced a wound across his palm, though the old man showed no sign of pain.

It was Koral’s offensive that found its mark, pushing through uncompromised and undefended. Apollo couldn’t do a thing as her knife plunged into his chest and stomach three times in rapid succession, only his long trench coat preventing her from finding a more immediately lethal target —or perhaps it was anger that made her strikes less precise than they could’ve been.

A pained grunt escaped the old man’s lips, the first sign that he was actually human after all. With a shove of his shoulders, he forced Koral backwards once more, creating some distance as he stepped away. Blood trickled down his black shirt, though the dark liquid was more noticeable when contrasted against the fabric of his golden, baroque-patterned tie.

She would’ve smiled at him, just to underscore how much of a mistake it was to underestimate them as he had done, but the intensifying brightness in her peripheral vision stifled the gesture before it could fully form. Whether a trick of her mind or not, the air around her seemed to shimmer with preliminary heat waves caressing her face as Sunshine Recorder’s spherical core rotated frenetically, gathering whatever power it retained.

There was no need to receive a reminder of it, her heart immediately raced from the destructive potential of the eagle Punisher. For a split second, her mind flashed through an array of potential outcomes, each one more gruesome than the last —as she’d be incapable of getting out of the way.

Just as the blinding sun ray blasted forth, a crest of crimson spikes erupted from the ground before her, Kyros’ Aethyrs manifesting in the nick of time to form a protective barrier against the scorching light. Sizzling warmth permeated the air, the heat energy palpable even behind the shield.

Perhaps under daylight, the eagle’s attack wouldn’t have been so easily stopped. It would probably have shattered the wall had the fight taken place at a different hour, and turned her head to ash like all the other charred corpses throughout the warehouse.

But Sunshine Recorder was at its weakest during the dead of night, with no natural sun to channel or redirect. The blasts he could perform under these conditions were barely one-third as destructive as they’d be in its full, terrifying potential —and more importantly than that, limited.

They held not only the numerical advantage, but a tactical one as well. It was just a matter of time before they emerged victorious, making any resistance just a pitiful display of stubbornness… Yet as Koral’s gaze steadied on her former mentor, she was struck by the unsettling serenity in his eyes. Nevermind his injuries, Apollo continued regarding his former pupils with an odd mixture of both pride and sorrow that she couldn’t fully understand.

“Why?” Kyros raised his voice as returned to his feet, the red Aethyrs receding into tattoos along his left arm. “What did you do to deserve this!?”

Koral lamented not pursuing their advantage now that she was out of danger, but she held back, recognizing that it wouldn’t be smart to risk alienating or angering Kyros by interrupting his question. If he needed answers, she guessed she could let him seek them —though she doubted Apollo would offer anything satisfying.

Hush returned to her side, ethereal blue hair writhing like agitated serpents in a mirror of Koral’s restless impulses. The Punisher’s attention remained focused on Recorder, wary of any reprisal of its previous attack —the phantom mechanical eagle limiting itself on swirling back to Apollo.

“That’s a spineless question I’d expect from a rookie, not someone I personally trained.” Despite agreeing with the old man’s condescension for once, Koral refused to simply rest on her laurels and circled his position with predatory intent. “You should know better. This can only cloud your judgment further.”

>> “Perhaps, like you, I also cared once for people I shouldn’t have. Dared to dream of a life away from the misery that follows me, free from the reach of the Cartel…”

>> “… For someone else, if not for myself.”

Was this a ploy to manipulate Kyros? Koral couldn’t quite tell. The concept of maintaining a clean conscience felt like a distant joke, one they should have discarded long ago —yet here they were, playing the honor-bound martyrs. Cynicism aside, she respected the old man enough to dismiss his words as lies, nor did she believe he was trying to sway their allegiance.

“Focus on what’s important.” Apollo pressed on, his eyes fixed on Kyros while irritatingly ignoring the danger she posed. “I betrayed la Medula long ago. I’d do it again, and as many times as it takes to ensure the truth remains buried.”

>> “What else is there to know?”

No, Apollo wasn’t trying to dissuade them. He was, in his own way, urging Kyros to come at him with everything he had. It was a perverse form of consideration, to try and goad the fool past his doubts.

Fingers tightening around her bloodied knife, Koral’s lips curled into a bitter smirk, thinking it to be absolutely ridiculous… But if such words helped Kyros finally locate the balls he had lost, there wasn’t much to complain about either.

She noticed his brow furrowing at failing to contain a single tear, a moment of vulnerability Koral chose not to acknowledge, instead keeping her attention on the transformation that followed his now hardened expression. Withdraw Aethyrs erupted from Kyros’ left arm, coalescing into a massive ethereal crossbow pulsing in angered crimson. The weapon, an intricate marvel of ethereal pieces, had an irregular surface spiraling with the malleable shape of the Punisher —and its double-edged serrated arrow that took form above his extended wrist, aimed squarely at Apollo’s chest.

“If your goal is to take those secrets of yours to the grave, then I will honor those wishes.” Kyros declared, devoid of any ghost of hesitation as he drew back the spectral bowstring. “I’d prefer to give you a quick, painless death, but you won’t make it that easy, will you?”

“Hah. Just a couple of years ago I was teaching you not to point your own gun at your face. Like you have what it takes to bring me down, you conceited brat.”

The old man’s derision brought a fresh surge of conflict within Koral, now painfully aware of his transparent attempts to keep provoking them… But did it make any difference?

Silently, she locked eyes with Kyros, their extensive combat experience together allowing her to convey her intentions without uttering a word. It would be reckless brutality.

While Apollo braced for the Aethyrs’ shot, Koral exploded into motion, rushing towards the old man with abandon and a knife in her hand. She sensed rather than see Kyros releasing his arrow, the large projectile the size of her arm flying dangerously to their shared position. Their target’s eyes widened, caught in the sucker punch of two simultaneous threats rather than just one.

Most likely by impulse rather than conscious effort, Sunshine Recorder reacted to her proximity first, its metallic wings slicing through the air at terrifying speed. She barely registered the acute, searing seconds of pain before shock dulled the sensation —that of the eagle’s sharp edges dicing through her neck until it dangled precariously on her shoulders, held only by stubborn muscle tissues and bone.

Though the world spiraled rapidly out of focus, Koral’s consciousness clung to lucidity in order to drink from this savage sentiment of triumph, offering the maddening sight of a smiling half-severed head.

With Apollo twisting his body to evade the incoming arrow, it was the opportunity she needed for Hush to seize the opening. The Punisher continued the relentless advance that her human flesh couldn’t, needle limbs scraping past the darting arrowhead before raking across the old man’s body, tearing deep furrows into his flesh as he desperately stumbled backwards.

Vision fading into black, Koral’s last feelings were the warm liquid abundantly pouring down her wound, yet she refused to succumb completely to the embrace of darkness. Phantom pain inconsequential, she arrested her fall by forcefully slamming both hands onto the floor, lifting her ferocious blood-soaked gaze back to Apollo with a look of sheer savagery.

She witnessed Recorder’s fierce attempts to contain Hush, the crystal sphere nestled among its steel flesh rotating wildly as it gathered what power remained for another light beam. Its Accursed, however, was gasping against the ropes, collapsing to one knee as his hand clutched the gushing wounds that carved his torso, blood seeping between his fingers.

But this round was still far from over.

Unsure of when exactly her head had reattached itself, her eye regained full clarity just as Kyros joined the fray, his crossbow effortlessly reforming into a new shape mid-sprint. Hovering inches above his skin, Aethyrs’ distinctive patterns etched themselves into the air as three vicious claws to further the pressure with.

Without hesitation, he lunged at Apollo with the triplet blades, leaving the old man barely managing to evade their initial swipe. No matter how resilient he could be, pain and blood loss were beginning to take their toll, forcing him on the defensive from two different flanks —the clashes between Recorder and Hush providing a discordant metallic cacophony to their brutal dance.

Unwilling to be a mere spectator, Koral reached out with her mind to the arrow she touched earlier, dislodging it from the wall it had pierced to reverse its trajectory. From the sound of its removal, she noticed a flicker of recognition in the old man’s eyes. This too, was something he anticipated.

Even as he navigated Kyros’ attacks through dodges and parries, Apollo was already tensing to dodge the returning Aethyr, something he was likely to achieve despite his dwindling stamina —at least if just launching it back were to be the full extent of her plans.

As the arrow sped dangerously close to its mark, Koral distorted its velocity mid-flight and launched herself towards it with a fierce roar. Twisting her body in a fluid motion, she raised a leg to make the long square heel of her boot connect with the projectile’s front edge, the desperate kick sending tremors through her bones.

Though a hook in the Aethyr’s structure lacerated her calf in the process, the pain only helped to fuel her savage determination, viciously accelerating the arrow beyond its original speed.

Her moves were perfectly synchronized with Kyros, who moved precisely out of the way to allow the newly angled projectile a clear path, lancing viciously and uninterrupted towards Apollo.

Perhaps hoping that she would have remained incapacitated longer, the old man’s eyes widened in shock as he found himself unable to stop the massive Aethyr arrow now piercing his stomach, thrashing flesh and bone.

Kyros capitalized ruthlessly in the opening, his claws flashing in a vicious upward arc that tore Apollo’s shoulders, neck and face before sending him crashing into the unforgiving concrete.

The warehouse soon fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the ragged gasps of their target, his clothes ravaged and soaked in blood. The hitmen duo allowed themselves a moment to catch their breath, watching as Sunshine Recorder hovered back protectively over its fallen Accursed. Its once-imposing metal wings were now faded, flickering uncertainly like a faltering candle.

Koral found it astonishing that he wasn’t outright dead yet… But with this, he should finally be as good as finished.

Or at least so she thought before the fucker’s hand rose again to find purchase on Recorder’s metallic structure. With agonizing slowness, the old man pulled himself upright, his lower lip a mangled mess with a gash extending grotesquely up to his ear…

Yet somehow, impossibly, a smile was playing across his ruined features. Was it bullheaded pride or sheer willpower that kept him clinging this tenaciously to life?

“I wanted…” Apollo’s voice emerged as a coarse, breathless rasp, thickened by his extended suffering. “… To avoid this.” He swayed back to his feet, supporting his weight on a hovering Recorder that gradually began to regain its shine. “Not just because of the lack of control… But also the cost.”

Her eye darted back to Kyros, seeking confirmation that she wasn’t alone in her growing unease. Their task was technically fulfilled, but somehow she doubted her partner would be satisfied slinking away now.

Besides… The very words he spoke seemed to carry an invisible weight that made the air itself feel heavier. Was she getting so scared she couldn’t run anymore? No, it couldn’t be that.

“Years…” His voice sounded delirious, and when paired with his unfocused gaze it gave him a very disturbing presence. It was like he had aged drastically over the course of minutes. “Took me years to stockpile this much… I was saving it for bigger fish.”

>> “And now…” He trailed off, a mirthless chuckle escaping his mutilated lips. “I guess I’m going to die if I don’t use it.”

With each passing second, the atmosphere in the warehouse grew heavier, enough so that its oppressiveness couldn’t be blamed on fright and tension alone. Koral felt sweat beading on her brow, and not just out of anxiousness and exertion —there was a very real heat wave suffocating the closed walls, warm gales making her long hair dance as Recorder’s earthy steel tones began to redden ominously.

“You should know, the heat that Sunshine Recorder devours… It doesn’t simply vanish with the setting sun. It waits. It builds.” With a sigh, Apollo’s voice began to straighten, his former authority creeping back in. “And required sacrifices to tap into its stored power.”

Though it was difficult to keep a straight gaze as Recorder’s incandescence continued the escalate, the metal plates that comprised its body seemed to liquefy and reform under such blazing hot extremity. The azure glow of the Aethyrs paled against a far more intense orange, shadows dancing wildly as the Punisher unfurled its wings in an untouchable radiance.

Koral felt her skin prickling uncomfortably, unable to contain her eyes from darting erratically through warehouse, watching as layers of plastic covering contraband goods began to shrink and melt. The very air before her crackled with barely contained energy, distorting her vision like a mirage in the desert.

“If you value your lives…” Apollo’s voice cut through the rising din, his posture straightening as a complex expression was held by his deep yellow eyes. Was that worry? For them? “… I suggest you run now.”

The finality in his tone sent ice through Koral’s veins, clashing with the mounting temperature of their makeshift battleground. This wasn’t a bluff, nor the delusions of a dying man. This was a power beyond anything she had ever witnessed —and it was about to be unleashed upon their shoulders.