Divided by Dawn

The thing wearing Henry's body didn't walk. It flowed. Each step was silent, a ripple in the crater-city's fabric of shadows. The pain and hesitation of his daytime self were a distant memory, replaced by a clarity as sharp as broken glass. His crimson eyes drank in every detail of the decaying world, not with fear, but with the hungry assessment of a predator in new hunting grounds.

Vex led them to a reinforced concrete bunker, an oasis of order in the chaos of scrap. Holographic maps flickered over a central table. "The Pinnacle is an Old War relic," Vex explained, her optic eye locked on Henry's smiling face. "Its security is archaic, but lethal. Patrol drones on the perimeter, hunter Spectres on the inner levels, and at the core, something the data only calls 'The Guardian'."

"Wonderful," Henry hissed, the sound a satisfied purr. He took the katana from Tsukuyomi. The weapon felt like an extension of his own dark soul. "More toys to break."

The approach to the Pinnacle was a ballet of stealth. Henry moved like a smear, the shadows themselves seeming to bend around him, making him nearly invisible. The patrol drones—floating machines with cold blue lenses—were dispatched with terrifying efficiency. A tentacle of darkness erupted from the ground, crushing a chassis. The katana sang through the air, cleaving another in two before its alarm could even shriek.

"You're showing off," Tsukuyomi laughed in his mind, her spectral form floating beside him.

"I'm warming up," he replied aloud, the sound swallowed by the nanite hum.

Inside the Pinnacle, the silence was heavy. Corridors of polished metal stretched into a darkness broken only by pulsing red emergency lights. This is where the Spectres attacked. They were slender, spider-like machines that detached from the walls and ceilings, skittering with unnatural speed and firing bolts of superheated plasma.

The battle was a storm. Henry was the eye. He didn't dodge, he danced between the blasts, the katana deflecting energy bolts with a sharp sizzle. He used the darkness as both weapon and shield, creating solid barriers to absorb shots and shadowy blades that lashed out from impossible angles. One Spectre leaped at him, only to be impaled on a dozen spikes that erupted from his own back.

But there were too many of them. An endless wave of metal and fury. A plasma bolt grazed his leg. The pain was an electric shock—real and searing—and for the first time, he faltered. Another Spectre seized the opening, driving one of its metal legs through his shoulder and pinning him to a wall.

We're going to die!

That voice. The pathetic whimper of his other half. The pain and panic of the white-haired Henry flooded his mind, a nauseating wave of weakness. For a split second, his control slipped.

"Shut up!" he roared, at the voice and the drone alike. Pure, primal fury flooded his being. The darkness around him exploded outward, no longer tentacles or blades, but a shockwave of raw, entropic force. The Spectres were thrown back, their circuits frying, their metal bodies twisting like bugs in a fire.

He ripped the drone's leg from his shoulder with a snarl, black blood smoking from the wound. He got to his feet, the smile back on his face, wider and more manic than before.

They reached the core. It was a cavernous chamber, and in the center, floating in a containment field, was the Guardian. It wasn't a drone. It was a sphere of liquid silver metal, constantly twisting and reshaping itself. The data drive sat on a pedestal just beneath it.

"Oh, that's tricky," Tsukuyomi said, her voice a little less amused.

"Stay back," Henry ordered. He took a step forward, and the sphere reacted. It solidified, morphing into an exact copy of him. Black hair, red eyes, an equally predatory smile, and a katana forged from the same liquid metal.

The fight that followed wasn't a battle; it was a paradox. Every move Henry made, the Guardian mirrored perfectly. Every strike was parried, every feint predicted. It was like fighting his own reflection, one that felt no pain or fatigue.

"You cannot beat me," the copy said, its voice a metallic imitation of his own. "I am you, perfected."

"Flaw in your logic," Henry panted, backing away from a flurry of blows. "You can only copy what I do. You can't... create."

He slammed his katana into the floor. It wasn't an attack. It was an invitation. The Guardian, trapped in its mirror-logic, did the same. And in that frozen instant, Henry released his power. Not at his enemy, but into himself. The shadows wrapped around him, not to attack, but to propel him, launching him forward like a bullet. He ignored the copy and dove for the pedestal, snatching the data drive.

The Guardian shrieked, its form breaking apart as its primary protection protocol was violated. The chamber began to collapse.

"Time to go!" Tsukuyomi yelled, her form glowing brighter. She held out a hand, and a corridor of solid moonlight formed, shielding them from the falling debris as they sprinted for the exit.

They emerged back into the rancid night of the Obsidian Heart, covered in dust and machine-blood. Vex was waiting, her face impassive but her optic eye glowing with greed. Henry tossed the drive to her.

"Your payment," she said, handing him a heavy credit chip. "And a new offer. There's an Old War tech convoy coming from the north. Security will be ten times worse. The payout will be a hundred times bigger."

Yes! the voice in his head sang. More! More fighting! More power!

Henry stared at the chip in his hand, then at the destruction they'd left behind. The adrenaline was starting to fade, replaced by a cold emptiness. He could feel the first light of dawn on the horizon, a pale threat.

And when the change came, it was different.

Henry dropped to his knees, his body convulsing. This time, he didn't black out. He remembered. Everything. The death-dance with the Spectres. The savage joy of crushing metal. The manic reflection in the Guardian's face. The bloodlust that was as much his as the hand on his face.

He threw up. Horror and self-loathing washed over him. This wasn't some separate monster. It was him. A part of him that loved the violence. The realization hurt more than any wound.

"He's being dramatic again," Tsukuyomi observed, rolling her eyes.

Henry got up, trembling. His blue eyes met Vex's optic one. He tossed the credit chip back at her.

"No," he said, his voice steady despite the shake in his body.

"No?" Vex repeated, one eyebrow arching.

What are you doing, you idiot?! the voice in his head screamed. Take the mission!

"No," Henry repeated, louder this time. He looked at his hands, the hands that had dealt so much destruction. Joseph's training, his want for a different life... it wasn't about running from this monster. It was about controlling it. Being stronger than it.

"There is a strength that doesn't come from destroying your enemies," Joseph's voice echoed in his memory. "It comes from mastering yourself."

He finally got it. Giving in to the darkness of the Obsidian Heart wouldn't make him stronger. It would just make him more of that.

"We're leaving," Henry announced, turning his back on Vex and the promise of more violence.

"Leaving to go where, crybaby?" his other half sneered in his mind. "There's nothing for you out there!"

"I'll find it," Henry said. "Joseph told me about a place. A school. A place to learn." He looked at Tsukuyomi. "You coming?"

The goddess actually looked surprised for a moment. Then a slow, intrigued smile spread across her lips. A broken kid suddenly finding a spine? Now that was far more interesting than a predictable monster.

"Of course," she purred, floating beside him. "I'm curious to see how this act ends."

As the sun rose over the Obsidian Heart, painting the scrap and misery in shades of gold and rose, Henry walked away. He didn't know what was waiting for him. Didn't know if he could ever control the beast inside. But for the first time since Joseph left him, he wasn't just reacting. He was choosing his own path. A path not of power, but of control. And that, he realized, was the only fight that really mattered.