Jarad and the rest of the crew were still reeling from what had happened to Toni. Her sudden disappearance weighed heavily on them, questions lingering in the air like a thick fog — heavy, suffocating, and impossible to ignore. But now wasn't the time to dwell. They were bloodied, bruised, and far from subtle — not exactly the image of a crew trying to stay under the radar.
The stench of blood, sweat, and scorched fabric clung to them, sharp and acrid, staining the tight corridors of the abandoned complex they'd taken shelter in. It was Maya who broke the silence, her voice calm but resolute.
"We need to split up. Find somewhere to clean up before the blood on us attracts something. I'm not in the mood for a fight."
No one argued.
They divided quickly, instinctively. Jarad and Leon — the only two men in the group — veered off toward the left wing of the building. Evie, Maya, and the others moved right. Overhead, dim lights buzzed faintly, casting flickering shadows that danced along the metallic walls. The floor beneath them was slick in places, damp with moisture that had seeped in through cracks in the Dome's aging infrastructure.
As they walked, silence stretched between Jarad and Leon. At first, it felt comfortable — the kind of quiet forged in the fires of shared battles and bloodshed. But the further they went, the more Leon noticed it. Something wasn't right.
He stole a glance at Jarad, who walked ahead with steady, deliberate strides. His movements were smooth, almost too smooth — as if he were going through the motions rather than truly present. The usual tension that clung to Jarad like a stormcloud — that coiled readiness to strike — was gone. In its place was something else. Something distant.
Leon slowed his pace, debating whether to speak. Finally, he did.
"Jarad," he said quietly.
Jarad turned slightly, enough to meet Leon's gaze over his shoulder. "Yeah? What's up?"
Leon scratched the back of his head and exhaled. "I dunno, man. You seem... off. Maybe it's just me."
Jarad stopped walking. He turned fully now, his pale eyes locking onto Leon's with unsettling clarity. There was something unreadable in them — a haze of emotion that Leon couldn't quite name.
"Off how?" Jarad asked, casually. But there was an edge to his tone, like a blade just beneath the surface.
Leon folded his arms. "It's the look in your eyes. Feels like you're carrying something you're not saying. You sure you're alright?"
A pause. Jarad's lips curved into a faint smile — but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm fine. Pretty sure I'm fine," he replied, brushing past Leon.
Leon didn't follow right away. He watched his friend's back retreat down the hallway, his mind turning over Jarad's words. He'd known Jarad too long to believe him — not because Jarad lied to others, but because he lied to himself.
Eventually, Leon caught up. "If you say so," he muttered, his tone neutral but his eyes still studying Jarad like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
They moved through the silent corridor, the atmosphere heavier now, the silence between them no longer companionable but weighted — thick with things unsaid.
Eventually, they found a small maintenance bathroom tucked behind a broken metal door. It wasn't much, but it had running water, and right now, that was enough.
Jarad tried contacting Frieda, pulling up his comm-link, but nothing went through.
"No signal," he muttered. "Damn rifts must've scrambled the Dome's entire network."
Leon grimaced. "Figures. We'll deal with it later."
He glanced around the room, then offered, "Let's clean up first. Then we'll regroup with the girls, yeah?"
Jarad gave a slight nod. "No problem. Besides, I'm starting to itch from all this dried blood."
Leon started pulling off his jacket, then paused. "Jah."
"Yeah?" Jarad replied, already halfway out of his shredded shirt.
"You notice something weird? We were soaked in blood — but there's no injuries. Not a single cut on me."
Jarad blinked, looking down at his own skin. No gashes. No bruises. No pain.
"Shit... you're right. What the hell?"
Leon scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "Probably the System. Healed us after those trials. Dead people aren't exactly useful, you know?"
"Hmph. Good point." Jarad looked at the faded scars that remained — memories etched in flesh — but nothing fresh. "We should let the others know once we're done here."
Leon nodded. "Definitely."
Jarad stepped into the stall, the water steaming and hot. It poured over him like cleansing fire. But as the blood washed away, his mind drifted — and then something shifted.
The steam thickened. The tile faded. The sound of the water dulled to silence.
Suddenly, he was somewhere else.
---
Jarad blinked. He was no longer in the shower but standing in a vast, white void. The floor had no texture, the air no scent, but he wasn't alone.
Six faceless figures stood before him, each cloaked in a strange familiarity. One stepped forward.
"You need to remember, Jarad," it said. Its voice was neither male nor female — just... there. "This isn't the time to forget."
Jarad staggered back a step, eyes narrowing. "Who are you? What is this place? I was just—"
He stopped. He wasn't wet anymore. He wasn't even dressed. He was simply here.
"You'll understand in time," said another figure, stepping out. "But for now, there are things you need to hear."
"We're running out of time," a third added. "So listen carefully."
"Your relics — the ones from the trial and the Shadow Spawn — they're more than just tools," the first one said. "They're keys. Core of the Abyss. Shadow Fang Shard. Eclipse Band. Learn them. Use them. Master them. Your survival depends on it."
"Summon the relics, Jarad," said a different voice.
Jarad hesitated, but obeyed. With a breath, he summoned them — and one by one, the relics appeared, hovering in the air before him. Each pulsed with dormant power.
"Now, equip them," said the lead figure.
Jarad frowned. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
"Take the Core of the Abyss. It's armor. Grab it. Think about wearing it. Don't overthink it — just feel it."
Jarad reached out, wrapping his fingers around the Core. The moment he focused on wearing it, the relic melted into liquid shadow, flowing over his body and forming sleek, dark armor. It was light — impossibly so — but he could feel the strength humming through it.
"Damn… this is kinda cool," he muttered.
A faceless figure chuckled. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, kid."
"The Shadow Fang Shard," another explained, "is a weapon relic. But it's special. It morphs into any weapon you can imagine. Think of it as a living armory."
"Really?" Jarad's eyes gleamed with interest. "Alright… but before I try it — who are you people?"
"You already know," one said with a short bow. "We're all you — just from different futures."
Jarad blinked. "Future me, huh? Makes sense, I guess."
"You don't seem surprised."
Jarad smirked. "You're me. You know what I've seen."
A few figures chuckled.
"I like your guts, boy."
Jarad reached for the Shadow Fang Shard. He pictured an odachi. The shard shifted, lengthened, and became a gleaming blade in his hand. Then he thought of a greatsword — and the blade widened, reshaping instantly.
"Oh yeah," he said, admiring the weight and balance. "This is gonna make things way easier."