XCEL

The JPRO facility was less a complex and more a labyrinth.

Tegata Kage had been here only a few hours ago, yet the layout had already shifted. Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went, he was surrounded by identical sterile corridors, nausea-inducing fluorescent lighting bearing down on him from above. Lengths of metal cable, thick and warped, spanned the floors, walls and ceiling like arteries, pulsating. Tegata was immensely grateful he’d made the call to split up. No less than five minutes after he braved that taunting archway, he found himself swarmed by Rejected.

The jackal pounced from his side, tearing the leg off the reject in front. Tegata felt another approach from behind, elephantine footsteps echoing through the hellish halls. The boy swivelled on his heel and pivoted at the hip, driving a roundhouse kick crackling with psychic energy into the creature’s ribcage with a sickening crunch. The reject screamed and stumbled to the side. Tegata whipped around and clasped his hands together, splaying his fingers out like wings.

Flock (群 Gun)

Silhouettes of pigeons in their hundreds rushed forth from his shadow in a visceral torrent. A cacophony of agonising cries filled the air. The pigeons stripped the creature of its flesh with their beaks. All that remained was bone. Another mindless drone, one of hundreds, emerged to take its place, crushing the skeleton beneath its foot.

He couldn’t afford wear himself out on fodder. They had only just begun the mission; the Rejected just kept coming. It didn’t make sense to try and kill them all. His jackal nearby had eviscerated its prey, the white floor slick with crimson.

Return

The jackal howled and lost form, sinking back into the boy’s shadow. Tegata turned tail from the reinforcements and fled, twisting his hands together into a new form.

Nightmare (夜馬 Yoruma)

With a chilling, breathless whinny, a skeletal black horse grew from Tegata’s shadow to canter right alongside him. Grasping at the creature’s fluid flesh, Tegata jumped and swung his right leg over, seating himself back on the creature’s haunches. His knees dug into the Nightmare’s rib cage tight. The creature reared its head and galloped at full tilt, the cries of the Rejected growing further away.

“Why do you continue to strive?” A deep, rasping voice now filled his head. Tegata shivered. A different shadow hung over him now, a familiar demon.

This one wasn’t Marion.

“You abandoned her, Tegata Kage." The demon was warped and inhuman, a malevolent cloud. It clung to him with sharp fingers that dug into his shoulders like knives, pressing down. “You abandoned her to save yourself; you betrayed her. Selfish, worthless. You were given away for this reason. This rescue mission is futile. You have led the others to their deaths.”

Nightmare began to slow down. Thick, dark mist began to coalesce around the horse’s legs. Tegata grit his teeth and pressed on. “I have to save her. I promised to save her. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

The demon cackled, and Tegata felt his shoulders grow heavier still. It began to fade, but not before whispering a farewell into his ear.

“It’s no use. Don’t deny yourself. Give up.”

Tegata looked over his shoulder. The spirit was gone, but he felt so much heavier. Nightmare began to gain speed once more, as the shadowy mist on the floor disappeared.

“Ahead! Ahead!” Cried his parrot. “A presence lies ahead! Danger! Danger!”

Tegata felt it. The ripple of a psychic signature drew closer, from behind. Not good. He’d reached a dead end. Even worse. Reigning Nightmare to a halt, he looked over his shoulder. The walls of the corridor behind him creaked and folded in on themselves, leaving no option for retreat. Tegata cursed, and looked to his right. Another path branched outwards.

“What’s the status of the others?” He asked. “Are they alright?”

The parrot didn’t get a chance to reply. Half a second later, it exploded. A sharp brass tone echoed around the corridor. Flecks of darkness spattered the floor like paint. Tegata dismounted Nightmare, and the creature sunk into his shadow.

Further down, a man stood silhouetted against the overhead lighting. Dark suit, sharp pink shirt with a large and upturned collar. He held something in both hands, a golden glint winking at Tegata from afar. An enemy. Tegata approached, hands by his sides. He squinted into the distance, trying to discern the outline of the object against the metallic glare. The man raised the instrument to his lips, and Tegata realised far too late.

A trumpet?

The barrage of sound hit Tegata square in the chest, throwing him back against the wall. Wincing, Tegata stumbled back to his feet, ears ringing, the back of his head throbbing from the impact.

His assailant stepped forward into the light.

“I know you.” Tegata summoned his jackal back to his side. The hound started to growl, hackles raised. “Kanekuda Yoshine, the younger brother.”

The man grinned and bowed. “Honoured you remember.” The man didn’t open his mouth once, but his voice echoed in Tegata’s mind all the same. It resonated a little differently in his head. The closest comparison was how his own voice sounded before he spoke. This kind of telepathy was only possible with Psyche.

“Didn’t think you’d come back, Kage,” Kanekuda continued. “The boss was very disappointed. You would’ve made a great addition to the team.”

Tegata scowled. “The only addition I’m making today is another fresh JPRO corpse. Now stand aside, unless you want to be the first.”

* * *

“Who goes there?”

Meanwhile, elsewhere, the lone cry of a JPRO guard echoed around the concrete jungle outside the facility’s west wing. He was dressed much like the riot squad had been outside her house that morning, only his eyes were completely blank. He acted on autopilot, or through someone else’s influence.

Kinuka held her breath, pressed her back up against the pillar. There were two of them, both armed. She’d had a plan, but that was before part of her had been seen. Now the first guard was approaching, sights trained on where he’d seen a flash of blond hair. The guard peeked behind the pillar, but it was too late. A length of wire quickly fastened itself around his neck, yanking his head down to collide with something hard—Kinuka’s knee. His cry was quickly stifled. A crack, and the man slumped to the floor. Kinuka stood over him for a second, panting. The other guard, alert and cautious, trained his own gun and approached from the other side.

He circled the pillar. All he found was his colleague, collapsed on the floor. Something sharp wrapped around both his ankles and pulled, slamming him face-first onto the floor. Winded, the guard reaching for his gun. His fist closed on air; their assailant had just lassoed it into her own hands.

“Don’t move.” Kinuka pointed the barrel down at the guard. The man froze and raised his hands. Kinuka took one hand off the gun, which unravelled into a string that leapt to and fastened around his throat. Clutching at the string as it tightened, the guard grew purple in the face and promptly passed out. Kinuka relaxed the string, winding it back into her own hand. She admired the assault rifle she’d managed to pilfer, before taking it apart with Threadwork and throwing it to the floor.

“Why take that approach?” The Seamstress had materialised nearby. “Both still live.”

“I’m not a killer.” Kinuka tapped the guard lightly with her foot to make sure he was out. “I just wanted to take them out, that’s all.”

“Your skills are improving.”

“Thank you.” Kinuka flexed her hand. Aside from the basic aikido she’d begged her parents to sign her up for when she was little, none of which she remembered, the only self-defence training she’d ever had was a brief course in her first year of high school to deter creeps on the street. Yet, she’d just taken out two grown men by herself. All of this was instinct. Time and time again, she’d been backed into a corner. With no time to think, her body had moved on its own. Her threads responded to her will, an extension of her own body.

It was natural, too natural. It scared her.

Had she always been able to act this way?

The parrot on her shoulder cawed softly and ruffled the feathers in its neck.

“I’ve just found an entry,” she announced, hoping it would convey the message. “What’s your status, boys?”

Silence, until the parrot responded with Rin’s voice. “Already way ahead of you!” A triumphant laugh. “What, did you stop to tie your laces or something?”

“I’ll tie yours together if you keep that tone,” she snapped. “And you, Tegata?”

No response.

“He’ll be fine,” the parrot echoed Rin’s nonchalance with irritating perfection. “Worry about yourself first, and get a move on! This is a rescue mission, not a telephone catch-up!”

“Wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer about it...” Kinuka muttered. The Seamstress lay a skeletal hand on the girl’s shoulder, subdued sympathy evident beneath her veils. “Even more annoying is that he’s right.”

She slipped through the unguarded door and bolted into the labyrinth.

She didn’t like it here. Her hurried footfall echoed around the blank and twisting hallways as though it were her tomb. The walls were moving, ever so slightly. Kinuka felt they were pressing in on her, the corridors threatening to collapse in on themselves if she stayed in one spot for too long. If it weren’t for their plan, and the directions Rin had made them memorise, she would’ve been lost almost immediately. There was no sign of anyone else here, JPRO personnel or reject alike. Nevertheless, she kept running. Tegata had warned them time was of the essence, and Kinuka didn’t want to be in this place for longer than she could help.

Only then, she heard music. Orchestral music. At first it was soft: light tones and trills of a flute, followed by a violin. Kinuka slowed to a halt. Where was this music coming from? Suddenly, more instruments joining the fray. The music became louder. She whipped around, looking down the endless corridors that stretched and branched off into the distance. No-one. The resonance around the empty halls gave each note a sinister chill. Faster now. A shiver ran down her spine. She took off, changing direction. The music grew louder, more fervent, chasing her. She sprinted as fast as she could, until she saw the walls ahead of her start to warp and twist as they caved inwards, confirming her worst fear, and blocking her path.

Kinuka heard footsteps, and turned to see a man standing where she’d just come from. He was much older, tall and oddly emaciated, traipses of grey hair combed over his scalp. He had a long face with high, sallow cheeks, and wireframe glasses. Behind them, both eyes were closed. His third eye, however, was staring a hole through Kinuka. Both hands held a slender flute up to his lips. Long and sleek, the silver instrument glinted in the harsh lighting. The invisible orchestra carried its tune until the close. Kinuka waited with baited breath.

“I hope you enjoyed that little performance. I thought I’d give a little interlude for our dear intruder.” The man had a pompous, grandiose tone. “I assure you, there’s more yet to come.”

The wicked glint in his eye made Kinuka feel sick. The third eye, the menace of the man’s psychic presence; this had to be one of the Glass Eyes, sent to kill her. What’s more, the face was disturbingly familiar.

“I know you.” Kinuka’s eyes widened. She took a step back. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

Sasuki Yoshine, fifty-three, had once been a famous musician. Humble beginnings as an instrumental prodigy gave way to national and then international acclaim for his talent, following which the man conducted on a global stage. The glory days weren’t to last. Sudden accusations of sexual misdemeanour sullied his name beyond repair. Kinuka had been only nine or so when the news hit the headlines, where it remained for weeks. Retiring from public life—to save face, it seemed—what soon followed was the gruesome mutilation of the whistle-blower by Yoshine and one accomplice, an act of first-degree murder that put the both of them on death row. The body of the poor man had been completely dismembered, disfigured beyond all reason; the first one to witness the awful sight was still in the psychiatric ward to this day.

“No, no, no.” The man shook his head. “Little girls should speak only when spoken to, is that clear? I don’t remember asking you any questions. The youth these days simply don’t respect their elders. It must be that awful American influence seeping in, damn Yanks.”

Kinuka bristled, unravelling one of her arms from the elbow down into a whip. “I’ll speak whenever I want. You don’t deserve any of my respect, murderer.”

“Murderer? Rude and uncivilised.” The man tutted. “You should be honoured to stand before me. This is your one opportunity to experience the performance of a lifetime, for it will be your last.”

“I don’t know how on earth they got you out of prison, but the fact that JPRO employs vile people like you only makes me want to tear this place down even more.”

“You won’t be doing any of that.” Yoshine shook his head. “I’ve been sent here to stop you. Do you know what that means?”

Kinuka deadpanned. “I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

“Silence, girl!” Yoshine snapped. “It means there will be no encore for you! No ‘do-overs,’ nothing! You’ve made a mistake coming here, but you’ve been blessed by being dealt with by my hand. Now’s your chance to profess your gratitude. Go on, I’ll wait.”

Kinuka let the man wait. She wasn’t going to give him an ounce of satisfaction.

“Nothing? Don’t say I never gave you the chance, you ungrateful little shit,” Yoshine spat. The man took a dramatic deep breath, psychic energy pulsing in the air around him, and raised his flute. “The first song on today’s programme was composed by me. Allow it to set your mind at ease, wash away your worries and blank your canvas for the spectacle about to come.”

His specialty had to be something to do with music. Kinuka braced for something horrible, but didn’t expect the wave of goosebumps that erupted all over her skin.

A tranquil tune washed over her like a tide. Sweet and light, it made her head spin. She tried to call out, but found her voice die in her throat. She tried to take a step forward, but found herself swaying. Tripping over her own feet, Kinuka stumbled, eventually sinking to her knees. The music wormed its way deeper into her mind, as her vision began to blur. Gone was the harsh fluorescent lighting, gone was Yoshine. The grey corridor ahead faded in a haze, as the ceiling above opened up. Gone were the wires, the terrifying, winding cables. The sky was a blissful blue, and soft blades of grass brushed at her fingertips. A light breeze whipped at the flaps of her coat, and a meadow stretched out in front as far as she could see. A lone tree stood in the distance, the orange and yellow colours of fall still clinging onto its branches.

All agency, all purpose had vanished from her mind. With nothing left than what she saw, Kinuka began to walk.

* * *

“This place is an eyesore.”

“I know, right?”

For once, Rinkaku Harigane and the Architect could agree on something. Once he’d run far enough away from the others, Rin had made his own entrance into the facility’s labyrinth, using Framework to carve a doorway into a wall. He’d cut across several corridors the same way. He had a rough idea of where he was from having memorised the schematics, but everything seemed annoyingly out of place; the floor plan itself had shifted just enough to disorient him. The walls pulsed with psychic energy as though they were alive. A pit of unease settled in Rin’s stomach.

“To think someone has exerted such a degree of control over the cognitive world.” The Architect voiced his thoughts, a wide grin underneath his helmet. “I hadn’t ever thought it possible.”

Rin ogled him, confused. “You literally just said this place was an eyesore.”

“I’m not talking about the design.”

This didn’t help in the slightest. Rin, still perplexed, gestured for elaboration, but got none. The Architect sighed and shook his head.

“You’re absolutely impossible, you know that?” Rin, blissfully unaware of the irony, aimed a moody kick at a piece of loose piping rolling around on the floor. A sharp pain in his toe told him the pipe hadn’t been loose.

The Architect watched dispassionately as his inheritor hobbled around teary-eyed, clutching his injured foot. “And you, boy, are an idiot.”

Rin was just about to call the man something rude, when several psychic signatures flashed into view.

“Focus, boy,” came the cry of his mentor.

“Already on it.” Rin summoned a pair of spinning frames around his hands.

The signatures heralded the abhorrent cries that soon emerged through a doorway, as several Rejected came barrelling down the corridor towards him. Rin grimaced. These ones were even more grotesque than the ones back at the park. Muscles bulged underneath torn black jumpsuits, eyes pulsating with a sickening virulence. Was it because they were in another world, like Tegata had said? Maybe the Rejected were stronger here, now in a place full of abundant psychic energy to empower themselves with.

That didn’t matter. The creatures charged like bulls. The metalwork trembled underfoot. If Rin didn’t come up with a plan, he’d be roadkill.

Framework (枠組 Wakugumi)

Rin constructed another frame between his fingers. This barrier would be different. By combining multiple interlocking shapes instead of just a single plane, he could make a stronger wall. Rin threw his hands forward, and set the wall in place. The Rejected collided with the barrier and started throwing themselves against it. Rin held his breath, but the wall held fast. His victory was short-lived. He cursed, hearing the screams of more approaching from behind him.

“How many of these things are there?”

If he made another barrier, he’d just be trapping himself in. He had to keep moving. This group was fewer: only two.

Rin leapt towards the first. Throwing his arm back, he cleaved overhead with a frame to try and split the reject in two.

“Severance—”

The reject lunged with terrifying speed, seizing Rin’s face in its palm. The reject screamed and pelted Rin back down the corridor. A resonant clang echoed through the halls, as Rin—his body crackling with psychic energy—made a sizeable dent in the wall. Picking himself out of it, the boy groaned.

“That fucking hurt.”

He gingerly attempted movement. Nothing seemed broken, which was a good sign, but the impact had left him slightly dizzy, with a dull ache in his bones. His defence was improving. That was good. Ever since the encounter he’d had with the sniper, Rin had been putting more focus into reinforcing his body with psychic energy. He was glad it was starting to pay off. Even so, a twinge of annoyance prickled under his skin.

“Severance Planar…” He repeated. “Why didn’t it work?”

“Is that truly the only move at your disposal?” The Architect sounded even less impressed than usual; practically a record.

“This had better not be another lecture—” Rin looked between him and the Rejected, anxious; they were approaching. No longer charging, their movements were slower, more laboured.

The Architect shook his head. “Your mindset remains limited. Using the same technique on every obstacle you face is a surefire path to failure.”

Rin looked outraged. “Are you calling me some kind of one-trick-pony?!”

The colloquialism was lost on the man.

“Gah, whatever!” Rin cried. “What do I do? If Severance Planar won’t work against these guys, then—”

“Any fool with a knife can cut,” the spirit stated. “You must build your own path to victory. An architect designs; an architect builds. The world around you is your canvas; the very ground, your paint!”

Rin had to make do with that cripticism as the spirit faded from view. As the Rejected drew closer, they both stumbled back into a run. The one that seized him earlier let loose a bloodcurdling roar and charged. Rin created a frame and, moving it behind him, cut out a section of the wall. The frame now outlined a cube of steel-reinforced concrete. Shrinking it down to the size of a baseball, Rin pitched back his arm and threw the cube as hard as he could. At the moment before impact, he snapped his fingers.

Restore

With an awful crash, the metric tonne of concrete hit the reject square in the chest. The cube had returned to its original size, momentum conserved. The reject and concrete both exploded on impact, sending chunks of bloodied debris flying in all directions. Rin had to construct another frame just to shield himself. What remained was little more than a bloodied pulp on the floor. The second reject couldn’t so much as perceive the loss, let alone mourn it. The corpse of its comrade squelched underfoot as the creature made haste to turn Rin into a stain on the wall.

Rin was ready this time. He took another frame and captured a section of the wall. He stretched the frame in his hands and, to his surprise, the material expanded along with it. He grinned.

“Come and get me, you freak!” Rin beckoned with two fingers, taunting. The reject roared and lunged, only to trip over the concrete beam Rin had constructed spanning the width of the corridor. Rin channelled psychic energy into his fist and drove an uppercut into the creature’s jaw, bones splintering with a crunch. The reject was knocked airborne by the impact; this was his chance.

Rin expanded another frame between his fingers. This one he expanded forward, capturing the reject in midair. The frame solidified, and the reject froze. Rin brought his hands together, flattening the frame to the width of a pane of glass. Time to finish you off for good, he thought. Adrenaline still pounding in his head, he stepped over the mess of the first to stand next to the flattened frame. Psychic energy crackled and flowed from his third eye into his fist. Rin drove his fist into the frame with an ear-splitting crash, shattering it and the reject within.

All that remained to deal with were the three stuck behind his barrier. Struck with inspiration, Rin had an idea, and conjured a cube. He stretched this one out past his barrier until it was large enough to surround the drones. He captured the space within, and all three of them froze. Rin grinned, and compressed the cube into a die. He dropped it on the ground and stamped his foot. The frame shattered under his heel.

At last, Rinkaku Harigane was alone. The corridor still rung with the sounds of violence, not to mention the heavy stench of blood in the air. Rin bent over a little, resting his hands on his knees. His right hand was still throbbing from when he had punched one of the Rejected. He could still flex his fingers, but only barely. He gripped his hand into a fist and winced as the tendons felt like they were about to snap. Rin grit his teeth. The more he used Framework, the more strain he put on his hands. He had to be careful. There was still a way to the containment facility yet.

“You must press on,” chided the Architect.

“Yeah, just—” Rin struggled to catch his breath. “Just give me a minute, alright?”

“Your foes will not dither, neither should you.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Rin, bent double, took a deep breath then stood proper. “Okay, I’m good.” He wasn’t. The adrenaline from the fight had just drained from his blood and into the floor. His legs felt like lead.

“If you still tire, let your mind rejuvenate you.”

Rin took another deep breath. His third eye pulsed, and a shiver rippled down his back. The crackle travelled over his skin, psychic energy flooding his body. Rin moved around a little. “Better.”

“Your technique has improved as well,” the Architect continued.

“I have been listening, you know.”

“And?”

“It was difficult, but I did it. I tried to be a little more creative with my approaches, utilise the environment more.”

“A fledgling's approach, but one worth nurturing.” the Architect nodded. “The more you let your perspective expand, the more powerful you will become.”

Rin carved a hole through his wall from earlier and stepped through.

“Should hope so,” he said. “I’ve been practising.”

“Don’t rest on your laurels.”

Rin groaned. “Just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

The Rejected were still a threat, Rin knew. One misstep, and they could take his head off. As much as he wanted to boast to whoever would listen, to chalk his victory down to skill alone, Rin knew he’d once again gotten extremely lucky. He wouldn’t have Kinuka to sew his wounds shut like she did back in the café. The permanent patchwork marks on his stomach, the site of where he’d almost died, remained a painful reminder of that fact. He, however, was getting better. He could visualise the movements more clearly, both theirs and his own, reading the currents of psychic energy around him.

He still had to keep moving. There was no way he was going to let the other two beat him there. Taking off at a run, Rin took a sharp left at the end of the corridor and prepared another frame to cut through the wall at the far end.

What he didn’t expect was for the space to suddenly open up. No longer surrounded by four metal walls like a rat in a run, Rin now stood in some kind of courtyard. Where was he? The blueprints showed nothing of this. The labyrinth’s urban jungle towered on all sides, but, above him, the magenta sky violated his retina once more.

Rin spun on a heel to gain his bearings, but froze on hearing a familiar Kansai drawl.

“What a pleasant surprise,” mocked Hideyori Hakana. He stood on a raised section across the courtyard. Underneath the brim of his hat, blue eyes pierced Rin like daggers. “Have to say, we weren’t expecting guests, were we?” He looked to a hooded figure at his side. It said nothing.

“Not you again.” Rin glared up at the man. “What happened to our deal? You said you’d leave me alone.”

“I don’t yet seem to have both halves on the Ascension Blade in my possession.” Hideyori grinned. “’Fraid I got no idea what you’re talking about, kid.”

“Oh, come the fuck on—”

“Don’t think I came here to stop you.” Hideyori’s smile vanished. The cold edges of his frown only warmed by the lit end of his cigarette. “I only came to facilitate a reunion of sorts.”

He patted his associate on the back. “Go say hello, kid. I bet you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

The individual nodded and jumped down. Psychic energy sparked underfoot, cushioning his landing. He took off his hood, and Rin shrieked. “No fucking way! What the hell are you doing here?”

Dentaku Bango’s eyes narrowed. If only he had the answer to that himself.