The next day dawned dull and gray over Tokyo. Somewhere on the outskirts, in the skeletal remains of an abandoned factory, Lucien sat alone, shrouded in shadows and silence.
The factory was a relic from a forgotten era in Tokyo — its rusted metal beams and shattered windows telling stories of a time when industry thrived, and people had purpose within its walls. Now it was a tomb of uncertainty, cold and silent, holding nothing but echoes and dust. Lucien perched on a broken wooden crate, his figure hunched and weary, eyes staring down at the cracked concrete floor beneath him.
He did nothing all day. He just sat there.
No frantic plans, no restless pacing. Only the slow, torturous ticking of time spent tangled in thought. His mind circled ceaselessly around a single, impossible question: what path should he take?
Was he truly doomed to become the rogue the world feared? The monster they hunted with relentless zeal? Or was there still a way — a faint, fragile chance — to clear his name and prove he was more than the label branded across his back? The infamous "Class One Global Threat'' or ''DemonBoy" — a title that branded him as an enemy of the entire world, a threat too dangerous to be alive.
His hands clenched into trembling fists, the invisible weight of responsibility pressing mercilessly against his chest. It wasn't just his life on the line anymore. Rylen, Jason, Emiluna — his new friends, his new family in this broken world — they were all caught in the storm because of him and his power. Every choice he made seemed to carry a price too high to pay. Every move felt like a gamble on the lives of those he cared about.
The silence inside the factory was not peaceful. It was suffocating, thick with the echoes of his doubts and fears.
Then, without warning, the air around him shifted.
A chill curled through his senses, a strange sensation that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The world blurred, twisted, and folded in on itself until the factory faded away like smoke. Lucien knew what was happening to him. He was being called by someone.
When his vision cleared, Lucien found himself in a place unlike any other — a dimension both infinite and intimate, where darkness stretched out like a velvet void dotted with distant, faint stars. The space felt suspended outside time, a sanctuary removed from the chaos below.
And there, standing calmly at the center of this void, was the Creator of Gods.
Her presence was both comforting and terrifying.
Lucien's breath caught in his throat. It had been so long since she last touched the edges of his existence, since her voice had spoken to him, like those days when he was in prison. She radiated an aura of unshakable authority — an energy so immense that even here, in this strange place, it pressed against him.
"You," Lucien whispered, voice thick with disbelief and hope tangled together. "Why haven't you contacted me since i broke out of that damn prison? After everything… after all this time?"
The Creator's inscrutable eyes regarded him calmly, her gaze steady like a beacon in the void. "Because sometimes, Lucien, you must find your own solutions on life," she said, her voice smooth as silk but edged with a hint of challenge.
Lucien was suprised by her answee, frustration rising like a storm inside him. "Solutions… but I don't know the way. I'm lost in hell right now."
The Creator's gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of something almost like pity touching her features. "You have always been far stronger mentally and physically than you realize."
Suddenly, a flood of memories crashed into Lucien's mind — shards of the past long buried deep beneath pain and regret. Faces, voices, moments — fragments from a life he thought lost forever. He saw again the faint image of his parents, their faces radiant with pride and hope.
The he remembered the last time he saw her "Your parents were proud of you," when the creator said that back then, her voice echoing gently through the void.
Lucien tried to ask what she meant, to understand the threads of his own story, but his voice was locked — trapped beneath layers of uncertainty and silence.
The Creator's voice came again, gentle but firm: "I can read your thoughts, Lucien. I will not answer that question, I won ´ t."
His shoulders slumped under the weight of her words. But gathering the last shred of courage, he whispered the most important question of all: "What should I do now? How do I move forward?"
She stepped closer, a radiant glow blossoming around her like the first light of dawn. "What you will, Vessel of Vengeance. You make your own path, thats the most important thing to do. The power is yours — to shape, to wield, to become. Rogue or savior — the choice is yours alone."
With those final words, the vision dissolved like mist. The strange dimension melted away, leaving Lucien once again in the cold, empty factory. The shadows wrapped around him like a familiar cloak.
The weight of the Creator's message settled deep in his bones.
He was free to choose, go rogue or be a savior.
Lucien rubbed his wrists, feeling the faint shimmer of the tracker embedded there — a fragile tether to the friends who had never stopped believing in him. Hope flickered faintly in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to reach out.
He pressed the small button on the device twice — the signal for "meet."
Hours later, the hollow silence of the factory was broken by cautious footsteps echoing through the cavernous space. One by one, figures emerged from the shadows: Rylen, Jason, and Emiluna. Their faces, pale but brightening with relief, turned toward him.
The relief in their eyes was unmistakable — a silent promise of loyalty and hope amidst the despair.
Lucien managed a small, genuine smile — one that hadn't touched his lips in weeks.
"We need to talk guys," he said simply.
They settled down around him, the factory's quiet hum wrapping around their reunion like a protective shield. Conversation began tentatively, words slow and careful at first, but then gaining urgency and strength as they shared fears, hopes, and plans.
Rylen leaned forward, voice steady but weighted with concern. "We need to clear your name as soon as possible. You don't belong on that list. But… how do we even prove that?"
Jason shook his head, frustration simmering just beneath his calm exterior. "Those fucking politicians and authorities won't listen. They already branded you as a global threat. It's more than just evidence — it's about changing the narrative of the story."
Emiluna nodded sharply, eyes blazing with determination. "We have to find a way to show them who you really are. Not just what they fear."
They talked late into the day, ideas thrown into the circle like sparks — some caught fire, others died quickly. Fragments of plans formed and dissolved: gathering proof of Lucien's true intentions, exposing corruption within the system, using media and the people's support to shift public perception. Yet the "how" remained elusive, a puzzle missing too many pieces.
Finally, Rylen sighed, a heavy sound full of resolve. "We'll figure it out later. We have to. For you. For all of us as a family."
As dusk settled outside the cracked windows, the group prepared to part ways. Rylen clasped Lucien's shoulder firmly, a silent promise in the gesture.
"We'll stay in touch don´t worry Lucien. Keep the signal open."
Jason and Emiluna nodded, their eyes betraying exhaustion but also a fragile spark of hope.
Once their figures slipped back into the gathering night, Lucien leaned against a rusted pillar, thoughts swirling like storm clouds.
The scene shifted — this time to earlier that same day, inside the heart of the Fifth Division command post. It was a small, heavily guarded room tucked away beneath layers of security and surveillance. Drones hummed quietly outside the windows, their red sensors sweeping relentlessly over every inch of the compound.
Two security officers paced nearby, their eyes sharp and suspicious. Inside, Rylen, Jason, and Emiluna sat close together, each acutely aware of the invisible cage tightening around them. Cameras mounted in every corner captured their every move, every twitch of muscle, every exchanged glance.
Yet despite the constant watchfulness, a plan was unfolding — a risky, desperate gambit fueled by loyalty and hope.
Jason using his hidden talent as a hacker, suddenly glanced at the security monitors, a small spark of mischief flickering in his eyes. He leaned toward the control panel and, with nimble fingers, began to manipulate the system.
A minor alarm sounded moments later — a sharp beep and flashing lights that instantly drew the guards' attention to another wing of the facility. The officers hurried away, barking orders over their radios.
In the sudden chaos, Rylen reached into the sleeve of his jacket and slipped out a small device — a signal jammer they had smuggled inside days ago. With steady hands, he activated it, sending a brief but effective pulse that disrupted the surveillance cameras, creating a small blind spot.
It was just enough.
Emiluna and Rylen slipped out through a back exit, their movements fluid and practiced. Their breaths were steady but hearts thundered with the risk of discovery.
Jason stayed behind, eyes glued to the monitors as he looped security footage, covering their tracks with precise timing. His fingers danced over the keyboard, weaving deception through lines of code.
They knew what was at stake. If caught, punishment would be severe — possibly fatal. But for Lucien, for the fragile hope they carried in their hearts, they were willing to risk everything.
Now back in the factory. It was evening but Lucien's thoughts were shattered by a sudden movement — a shift in the shadows.
He or she blinked rapidly, scanning the darkness. Someone was there. A figure stepped forward, emerging just a few feet away.
Lucien's heart quickened.