Interlude Two

As Two stormed down the corridors of the underground Russian base, the beat of his humming matched his firm strides. The air was thick with a red glow that was kind of creepy, but kinda cool too. Shadows bobbed and swayed in sync with the Imperial March, all sinister-like. The crimson light sparked off his lightsaber, making it look a thousand times more badass. Man, Rin made some good shit.

Sure, having his own theme song while he was kicking red ass was pretty neat. But it wasn't just for kicks.

Rin's words were etched deep into his brain, no way he was forgetting them anytime soon.

"Inducing emotions directly can sometimes bear fruit, but to truly master this craft, it is critical to recognize the impact of mediums. For instance, colors. A sudden splash of red can trigger aggression, a primal response ingrained within us. Similarly, scents have a potent influence, a mere whiff can summon a cascade of memories and associated feelings. An intersection of the physical and the astral, if you will.

And among these mediums, music holds a unique supremacy. It acts as a conduit, linking the tangible and the intangible, the corporeal and the spiritual. Even for individuals lacking your unique gift, it is possible to craft a symphony of emotions using melody as their tool. But for some gifted, it can be so much more, the effect is two-fold - it not only evokes emotions within you, but it also reverberates in the consciousness of those around you. Harnessing this power can significantly enhance your reach and impact."

Each note he hummed was like a jackhammer, pounding fear straight into the enemy.

But, it wasn't really panning out as he'd expected. It wasn't like he wasn't trying or anything. His power lay in moving things with his mind, while Three was the master mind-bender. But Two wasn't just settling for the basics, he'd asked Rin for extra lessons, while the others were cool with the bare minimum. Two thought them idiots, and they probably thought the same about him. For the exact same reason.

No, it wasn't working because they were all more scared of their big boss, Ozerov.

The sound of gunfire in the narrow space was deafening, a relentless racket like some joker banging on a gigantic metal garbage can. The stink of spent gunpowder burned his nostrils, and each bullet — a deadly drop of lead — was sidestepped or swatted away, easy as dancing around raindrops. He couldn't help the cocky grin that spread across his face. All that hellish training Rin put him through, was paying off big time.

By now, he'd have bet his lightsaber that the Reds would have figured it out. Their guns were toys, utterly useless against him.

But, give 'em credit, the Reds weren't as dumb as they looked.

There was something new arcing through the bullet-hail, moving slower, heavier. He squinted. A grenade. Well, Two had a policy about presents he didn't ask for: return to sender.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the grenade back from whence it came.

The resulting explosion was like a punch in the gut, a deafening shockwave that swallowed every other sound. The acrid stench of burnt flesh and molten metal hung heavy in the air, mingling with the coppery tang of fresh blood. Shrapnel, once part of the grenade's casing, turned into a lethal shower of deadly debris, slicing through the soldiers as they tried in vain to scatter. This wasn't like in the action flicks. It was a helluva lot more real than that.

An echo of a life extinguishing reached him, a brief flicker of guilt tugging at his conscience. But hey, they started it. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd not been invited. Ozerov practically sent out an engraved invitation by siccing those meathead goons on him.

Sure, the big bad Red had wanted him as a prisoner, but you can't always get what you want.

Two had to hand it to them, though. Stashing a secret base under a mall? Pretty slick. And he was beginning to think that malls were just a colossal waste of space.

Still, it didn't hold a candle to the space base on Io.

With a casual gesture, blood and gore parted before him, clearing a path. No need to soil his boots.

As the last thoughts of the dying Reds reached him, he caught their lingering terror of Ozerov. Even in their final moments, their fear of their commander outweighed their fear of death. The man certainly had a knack for motivation. Two had to wonder, what was his secret?

Turning the corner, Two nearly ran smack into what he first mistook for some sort of twisted modern art exhibit.

Naked soldiers were pinned up on the wall like butterflies in some psycho's collection, their eyes wide, faces contorted in terror. That was some cold shit. Made his stomach churn, and not much did that anymore.

Ozerov sure had a unique way of boosting team morale. Two couldn't help but wonder what these guys had done to deserve the Wall of Fame treatment.

His nose crinkled at the coppery smell of blood mixing with the sterile, metallic tang of the base. Smelt like a butcher's shop. Not that he ever visited one. Grimacing, he ran his hand near one of the bodies, his powers picking up the residual echoes. Agony. Fear. This was no quick execution.

Still, there was no direct whiff of Ozerov in this. It was like he was a damn ghost or something, leaving only ripples of his actions behind.

Shaking his head, he pressed on. At the end of the corridor, there it was - a massive, heavily bolted metal door. Man, the drama of it all.

Two smirked, igniting his lightsaber. The beam lit up the gloomy corridor, the shadows wavering in its harsh light. He set the tip of his saber to the door, the ensuing sparks a small firework show in the confined space.

His saber cut through the metal like it was paper, molten bits falling to the floor, hissing and steaming. With a final shove, the chunk he'd cut out fell inward with a loud crash.

Showtime.

That damn hat caught Two's attention first. It was ridiculously oversized, like something out of a comic book. A giant Russian military cap with a bold red star emblazoned on the front. It was so large that it almost eclipsed the figures standing beneath it.

But as Two's gaze traveled upward, he quickly recognized the face that belonged to the hat. Colonel Ozerov, the man in charge, the big boss of this Russian stronghold on American soil. His harsh features, sunken eyes, and prominent ears stood out in stark contrast to the absurdity of the hat.

Two couldn't help but smirk. Papa, that twisted bastard, would've loved this display of military bravado. He always claimed to be a rabid American patriot, using it to justify his sadistic experiments. But Rin, his mentor, saw through the facade of nationalities. To someone like Rin, it was all just a meaningless charade, like getting attached to a particular anthill. And Two, well, he was nothing if not adaptable, taking after Rin in more ways than one.

The room unfolded before Two's eyes, a control center packed with gadgets and gizmos, a playground for the self-proclaimed power brokers. And there, behind the safety of their control panels, cowered the white-coated scientists, their faces contorted with fear. It was almost comical how they sought refuge, as if their precious machines could shield them from his wrath.

But Two knew better. He saw through the facade of authority and control.

And further back, through a transparent glass wall, he could see a massive machine. A series of rotating rings formed a long cylinder, ending in a sharp point. Strangely, it was pointed towards a bare earth wall. There was something off about it, but Two was too far away to sense it properly. And there were more pressing matters for him to deal with.

"One Antichrist as ordered. Master Deliveries, under thirty minutes or it's free," Two mockingly quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The words danced on his tongue, a playful jab at Ozerov's grandiosity. But beneath the jest, there was a purpose, a subtle guiding of the conversation down a specific path.

With a steady hand, the Russian colonel aimed his gun directly at Two's chest. Inwardly, Two scoffed, dismissing the feeble weapon. Outwardly, he maintained a jovial, mocking smirk, a mask to hide his true intentions. "Superstitions and tales of Antichrists have no place in the modern world, boy," Ozerov retorted with a hint of authority. "Those with superior abilities should serve their fellow man, not lord over them with delusions of grandeur."

It was almost a nice sentiment, if one conveniently forgot about the macabre wall art that adorned the base. But there was a problem. Two couldn't sense a shit from the man standing before him. It was as if he didn't exist at all, a void devoid of thoughts, emotions, or even the slightest hint of movement.

Buying himself a moment, Two couldn't help but inject his unique brand of humor into the situation. "To serve man? Well, I'm sorry to say we don't have anything from that particular cookbook on our menu," he replied with a sly grin, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He kept his eyes locked on Ozerov, not once letting his gaze falter.

As he continued his taunting, Two's attention subtly shifted to his surroundings, taking in the details with an almost cocky curiosity. The scientists scurrying around like frightened mice caught his peripheral vision, their movements a testament to their fear, a symphony of unease playing out before him. With a mental flick, he tasted their fear, savoring it like a sour lemonade—a puckering sensation that strangely left him wanting more. But amidst their fear, there was an extra sour note—they were more afraid of Ozerov than of him.

Expanding his psychic senses, Two reached out to the dormant machine in the room. Memories of its past activity flickered in his mind, providing a glimpse into its purpose and power. The rotating rings, the crackling electricity, and the pulsating green liquid pumping within—they all hummed with the energy of potential, each component a puzzle piece in the grand scheme.

Finally, it all made sense to Two. Rin had sent him to crush the Commies for a reason. While Rin may not care about the invasion of America by the Soviets, the intrusion into Rin's hunting ground had transformed them from mere amusement to a bothersome pest.

But amidst the room's unseen energies, it was Ozerov who disrupted the psychic symphony. In the midst of the swirling chorus, the Russian colonel stood as a missing note, an anomaly that sent ripples through Two's psychic senses. There was an emptiness to him, a void that gnawed at the edges of Two's awareness. His mocking smile widened ever so slightly, reveling in the enigma that danced before him. Rin's words echoed through Two's mind—a mystery to be unraveled.

"Enough jokes, boy!" Ozerov's voice pierced the air, breaking the subtle tension. "How did you find this base? Who sent you?"

Two's lips curled into a mischievous grin, his gaze locked with Ozerov's. The colonel's words only fueled his amusement, and he couldn't resist a taunting reply. "You look quite old, Colonel. Are you getting senile? Or is that cap weighing down on your brain, cutting off the flow of blood? It must be heavy; I can see it from here." Two's eyes flickered briefly towards Ozerov's oversized cap, searching for any sign of a reaction. But the emptiness radiating from the colonel made it difficult to discern any emotion.

"You are the one who invited me here, after all," Two continued, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "You even sent those three stooges to pick me up. They know the way back, don't they?"

As he spoke, Two's mind continued to probe the void that surrounded Ozerov. Observing, assuming, testing—just as Rin had taught him.

"My soldiers wouldn't talk. Not even under torture," Ozerov bragged.

Seemed like the colonel had some cheap-ass power that messed with psychics. Typical Red move, tryin' to bring everyone down to their level. Can't stand it when someone thinks they're special.

Two raised an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and disdain evident on his face. "Well, ain't that somethin'. Your goons sure are loyal," he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. "But let me tell you, Colonel, you tested them, didn't you? Tortured them just to satisfy your sick curiosity."

A strange, indescribable emotion flickered within Two, something he couldn't quite define. It was a fleeting sensation, a momentary disturbance in his otherwise composed demeanor. He quickly brushed it aside, not one to dwell on such fleeting complexities. "Funny thing is, you think they needed to talk," he continued, his tone filled with mock surprise.

"Funny? Is this some kind of joke to you? Don't you understand what you've done?" Ozerov snapped, his frustration evident.

Two chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing. "Joke? It's more like a stinking fart joke. You thought you had me all figured out, but you haven't got the foggiest idea who you're dealing with. I was expecting a real challenge, but all I found were a bunch of ants. Well, ants, meet the boot."

If Two was going to take down the damn colonel, he had to be quick and damn clever. His telekinetic powers surged to life as he snatched a pencil from outside the null zone and sent it hurtling towards the colonel. He aimed to divert the bastard's attention and create an opening, but it all went to hell in a split second.

Ozerov's gun roared like a beast unleashed, spewing death at Two with thunderous force. Bullets whizzed towards him as he lunged forward, every fiber of his being focused on survival.

Time seemed to slow as Two's honed instincts kicked into high gear. His psychic senses, sharp as a goddamn blade from rigorous training, detected the disturbances in motion and energy. His mind raced, calculating trajectories and angles with split-second precision. His telekinetic powers surged, ready to alter the path of those goddamn bullets.

But within the null zone, the void played its wicked game. It was like a damn shield, hiding the bullets from his psychic perception until they burst free. He barely had time to react, to sense the imminent danger before it was upon him.

Adrenaline surged through his veins, pumping him full of raw, primal energy. He relied on pure instinct, on lightning-fast movements and goddamn luck. He contorted his body like a goddamn acrobat, dodging the lethal projectiles with preternatural agility. Most of the bullets missed him by a hair's breadth, but one motherfucker grazed his left arm, painting it with searing pain and leaving behind a crimson stream of blood.

That pain fueled him, like a goddamn fire in his gut. He gritted his teeth and clung to his resolve. No way in hell was he backing down now. This fight had taken an unexpected turn, but Two was born and bred to kick ass. He'd face whatever the bastard threw at him, and he'd emerge victorious.

The trick was to spend as little fucking time in the null zone as possible. Two knew that he needed speed, swift movement to minimize his exposure to the void's oppressive grip. If he lingered too long, the emptiness would consume him.

With a surge of psychic energy, Two channeled his power into his legs and propelled himself upward. In an instant, he collided with the ceiling, using it as a launching pad to gain momentum. It was a split-second of weightlessness, of defying gravity itself.

And then he descended.

Like a goddamn swooping hawk, Two descended upon the colonel with a vengeance. His body cut through the air with lethal precision, his every muscle taut with determination. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of violence ready to cleave the colonel in two.

The target of his fury: that godforsaken oversized cap.

With his lightsaber raised high, Two brought it down upon the hat with all the force he could muster. The blade sliced through the fabric as if it were mere paper, engulfing the cap in a cascade of sparks and flames. The room erupted in a cacophony of sound and chaos, a symphony of destruction.

But suddenly, everything came to a screeching halt. Two found himself suspended in mid-air, trapped in a surreal stillness. Time seemed to stretch, each passing moment elongated and distorted. He looked around, his senses heightened, taking in the frozen scene before him.

Ozerov's eyes widened in panic, their fear-filled gaze locked onto Two's suspended form. The red glow of the lightsaber reflected in his dilated pupils. Sparks crawled upward from the smoldering remnants of the burning cap, frozen in their fiery ascent.

And then, the true revelation was unveiled.

Beneath the oversized hat, Ozerov wore another headgear, a black circlet adorned with miniature swords. Its centerpiece was a large black crystal, radiating an ominous aura. Two's lightsaber was stopped mere inches away from the gem, its power seemingly absorbed by the dark artifact.

A pull, a magnetic force, emanated from the crystal, tugging at Two's very essence. It was as if the gem sought to claim him, to draw him into its malevolent embrace. A memory flickered through his mind, Rin's voice echoing: "It's not really a lightsaber per se, but more of a sword lens. It gives shape and properties to your power, focusing and strengthening it."

The gem's irresistible pull intensified, a beckoning call that enticed and frightened him. Two struggled against its grasp, his willpower battling against the dark allure. The room remained frozen, the chaotic symphony of destruction held in abeyance, as the fate of their clash hung in the balance.

And then, as if pulled by an unseen force, Two plummeted. Into darkness. Into the void.

He fell. And fell.

Time became an enigma, a swirling abyss of uncertainty. How long had it been? A mere moment? An eternity? Two could not even begin to guess as the concept of time lost all meaning.

And then, as abruptly as the fall began, it ceased. Two found himself somewhere else. It was an indistinct, shadowy place, like a haunting memory of a forgotten dream. But it was not a dream he found himself in. No, it was something far more sinister. A nightmare. A terrifying nightmare that twisted his insides with dread.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the true horrors of this place revealed themselves. A court of monsters, gathered in a macabre carnival of grotesque beings. Werewolves, vampires, and other abominations prowled the dimly lit expanse. Twisted goblins capered under the watchful gaze of fire demons, shrouded in darkness.

But amidst this chaos, all attention seemed to converge on the massive figure seated upon a darkened throne. The ogre-tyrant, a being of immense power and malevolence. He loomed in the shadows, barely visible, yet his presence sent shivers down Two's spine. A single glance in his direction could mean madness or death.

And yet, even in this nightmarish gathering, the figure on the throne held the truest expression of power. Two could feel it in his bones, a chilling realization that every vile and hateful act he had committed in his short life had been at the behest of this dark figure. The embodiment of his own worship of power now filled him with terror, unlike anything he had ever known.

His hands clenched tightly around the hilt of his lightsaber, but no light emanated from the blade. Two strained, desperately trying to channel his power into it, but the lightsaber remained shrouded in darkness.

"It is futile," a melodic voice spoke, its beauty twisted by malice. "Even if this is but a faded memory, only three gems may shine in this place. Cousin Rin's trinket will avail you not here."

Turning towards the voice, Two's gaze settled upon the speaker, and for a moment, the resemblance to Rin was uncanny. The figure before him bore a striking resemblance to Rin's favored form on Io - tall, slender, with black hair cascading around his shoulders. However, any similarities ended there.

While Rin's eyes sparkled with the mesmerizing depths of the sea, the eyes of this speaker mirrored the abyssal trenches, where darkness reigned supreme and no glimmer of light ever touched. His face possessed a certain beauty, marred only by the twisted sneer that curled his lips. He regarded Two with a disdainful gaze, as if he were nothing more than a piece of dogshit soiling his prissy shoes.

Fuck, this place is turning him all poetic. Next, he would become an arty type like Trevor.

The speaker's sneer widened, the contempt in his eyes deepening. "Not that it's one of his better works," he scoffed, his voice dripping with derision. "But he would hardly waste such a gift on a mere Man. Especially a half-grown one like yourself."

The words stung, hitting a nerve deep within Two. Despite knowing better, they struck at weak places within. Of course, the lightsaber was not one of Rin's finest creations. It was a toy, something Rin made for him because he asked for it.

Two was aware that Rin and Fano belonged to a species superior to humans, and usually, that knowledge was comforting. It meant he was chosen by something greater. But the speaker's words twisted that comfort into something sour.

It was more than just a jab at his ego. The words burrowed like maggots, delving into the part of Two that he didn't want to face. The part that made him doubt his worthiness. They whispered of failures, weaknesses, and moments of vulnerability. Memories flooded his mind: the crushing defeat at Eleven's hands, the soldier with his burning staff, and Trevor and his bloody hammer...

Remembering Trevor shook the spell he was under. Even like that. Even gripped by madness, Trevor still those three words: "I love you.". Granted, his twisted interpretation of love meant killing Two so they could be together in death. And yet, as horrifying as it was, Two found something disturbingly romantic in it—much more so than some stale bouquet. Not that he'd ever admit such a thing.

"It's only a prototype, anyway," Two dismissed, feigning indifference to the barbed words. He knew he'd faltered, and he could sense the alien's smug satisfaction. However, the sensation was different from before. Rin and Fano were psychically opaque to him, like attempting to decipher Swahili scripted in Arabic. This being was elusive too, but akin to reading a comic book beneath a bedsheet with a dim flashlight. "So, are you going to give me a name? Or should I just refer to you as Rin's cousin?"

"In an epoch forgotten by memory, my father gifted me the name Maeglin, which translates in your rudimentary, tarnished language as 'Sharp Glance.' I've worn many names throughout the eons, but my kin Rin knew me as Mel. It's a moniker embodying the affection inherent in friendship."

Two snorted derisively. "You don't strike me as the friendly type."

Mel's voice thrummed with an enchanting rhythm, a cadence steeped in antiquated wisdom. Yet, under its façade, an uncomfortable dissonance lurked, sending a chill coursing down Two's spine. "I never claimed to stand as your friend. Not yet, at least. But circumstances can shift, and given your dire straits, you are sorely in need of a loyal confidant."

Two's grip tightened on his useless lightsaber as his eyes narrowed. He bared his teeth, a flicker of defiance in his gaze. If Mel possessed even a fraction of Rin's power, Two knew he was in deep trouble. He could only hope that Rin was an exceptional being among his kind, exceptionally strong. And maybe, just maybe, Mel was considerably weaker.

"You think you can threaten me?" Two's voice crackled with tension. He was prepared to defend himself, even if the odds were stacked against him. The lightsaber may be useless, but he still had his inborn power.

Mel's response carried an air of detached observation. "No, I am not threatening you. Your current predicament is a result of your own choices. You ventured here as a mere spirit, leaving your physical body at the mercy of Colonel Ozerov. That man may possess certain admirable qualities, but mercy is not among them."

As always, Two fought against the icy grip of fear with an inferno of rage.

"And let me guess," Two retorted, his voice laced with scorn, a sneer etched upon his face. "You're offering your help, right? For the low, low price of my soul? As if you weren't the orchestrator of this entire charade. Do you take me for a fool? That bumbling Commie had no clue who I truly am. What I am. You were the one pulling his strings, manipulating him like a grotesque puppet just to bring me here."

"I am wounded by your unfounded accusation. It is true that I have played a small role, merely shielding Colonel Ozerov's mind from the glamour that Rin bestowed upon you. But it was not a matter of choice. By the bindings that dear Cousin Rin has placed upon me, I am compelled to do so for anyone who wears the Endelómeríe. Should you claim the Crown of Midnight from the good colonel's lifeless form, I would be obliged to extend that protection to your mind as well."

Two couldn't help but shudder, vividly recalling the hollow emptiness that consumed him when he recklessly charged at Ozerov. "And you think I'm just going to let myself be stripped of my power? All for your so-called protection? Not a chance in hell, man."

But Mel had an answer for that as well. His words carried an air of reason, almost enough to make Two forget the hidden malice lurking beneath. Almost, but not completely. Rin's training had taught him better than to trust so easily.

"You underestimate the craft of Rin Ranyarion Fëanorion. When the Crown of Midnight is worn, it suppresses all powers, save for the one who bears it. It possesses the ability to render even an ordinary man like Colonel Ozerov a formidable adversary against someone of your caliber. However, with that crown adorning your head, none shall be able to stand in your way. You shall wield unrivaled power, unmatched by any other."

It was tempting, there was no denying that. With the Crown of Midnight, every psychic he encountered would be reduced to the status of an ordinary human. And Two had already proven time and again that he was more than capable of besting such opponents. The allure of invincibility whispered its seductive promises. But there was a lingering doubt he couldn't shake.

"You turned on Ozerov so swiftly. Would you do the same to me?" Two's accusation hung in the air, tinged with suspicion.

Mel's response was calculated, void of any hint of treachery. "There is no betrayal. I do not hold allegiance to any Man, especially not to him. Ozerov lacks the capacity to wield the full power of the Endelómeríe. But you, on the other hand, possess the potential to harness its true might. Our exchange of words has reached its limit. Time slips through your grasp, as Ozerov prepares to offer your body as a tribute to his masters. Soon, he shall deliver you into the clutches of his motherland. The moment to act is upon us, for the chance to claim the Crown of Midnight shall slip away. Answer me this. Will you align yourself with me? Will you grant me the honor of aiding you in your confrontation with Ozerov and the victorious acquisition of the Crown of Midnight?"

Power. That was the word that circled in Two's head like a hungry shark, gnawing at the edges of his resolve. The Crown of Midnight. A glittering, dangerous promise. A chance to crush his enemies. It was a tantalizing thought, one that had his fingers curling as if he could already feel the cool weight of the crown in his hands.

But there was a sour note to it all, an undercurrent of...something. Fear? He scoffed at the thought, shaking his head as if he could dislodge the unwanted emotion. Two didn't do fear, he did anger. And right now, he was plenty angry.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he growled, words slicing through the tension between them. It felt good to voice his rage, to let Mel see it. To let him know that he wasn't just going to roll over and take whatever crap the guy was dishing out.

He didn't trust Mel, not one bit. And he didn't want to trust Rin either. Trust was a weakness, and Two didn't do weakness. He did strength. Power. Control. That was what mattered.

"No," he snarled, meeting Mel's gaze without flinching. "Now tell me how to get back to my body."

A smile was still perched on Mel's lips, but the friendly warmth had faded, replaced with a colder, predatory gleam. His posture subtly shifted from relaxed to a state of readiness, reminiscent of a coiled snake poised to strike.

"Ah, it appears that you have misunderstood my intentions, dear boy." The alien's voice held a more ominous note, its once velvety texture turning sharp and icy. "The choice was a simple one. Walk with me willingly or be dragged along the path of my design."

Mel's eyes, now glowed with an unnatural light, were fixed on Two. It was the stare of a hungry beast, one that had cornered its prey. The friendly demeanor was all but gone, and a chilling aura wrapped around him like an icy wind.

"I had hoped it would be the former. But it seems..." He tilted his head to the side, almost in mock sorrow, his voice laced with a thinly veiled threat, "I will have to settle for your body instead."

And with those words hanging in the air, Mel began to sing, his voice echoing through the hollow silence, " Cold be hand and heart and bone…" The haunting melody spiraled, an eerie symphony that twisted the atmosphere around them, marking the beginning of an ominous transformation.

The biting chill of the mist seeped in, swallowing everything. Two couldn't make out Mel or the monstrous court. The mist seemed to take on a life of its own, moving like a stalking predator.

An ethereal song hummed in the air, echoing from all sides. The verses spun the fog into a bewildering waltz, leaving Two utterly disoriented. It was as if he'd been thrown into a maze with no exit. The song was the taunt, the winding paths, the dead ends.

Two's first instinct was to strike. To charge at where he thought Mel was. He pushed himself forward, fueled by the rage that had always been his shield. But the mist was relentless. It swallowed his anger, leaving him running in circles. And the song, that damned song, never stopped.

Then, as the anger faded, fear surged in its place. He was the mouse, and the cat was toying with him. But the more he ran, the more the fear faded too, replaced by an overwhelming sense of loss. There was no fight here, just the mist and the haunting melody.

The revision conveys a deep emotional connection and maintains tension throughout the piece. There are a few minor mistakes and possible enhancements that I would suggest. Here's a corrected and slightly enhanced version:

Fragments of memory stirred in the echoing silence. Softer moments - time spent with Three, Four, and Five. Only now could he admit to himself that they were his friends. The warmth of Rin's approval, the taste of Fano's homemade food, and, most significantly, Trevor's smile while he sketched his comic. Love - it had always felt like his biggest adversary. But now, with everything else fading, it was the beacon guiding him.

Two came to a realization; love wasn't merely a weakness to be shunned or excised. It was also a source of strength when everything else failed. Even in this dire situation, memories of love and friendship shone brighter than any fear or anger. Love, he mused, might just be worth fighting for.

But it was too late. He had rejected too often. The flame within him was too weak, flickering in the apathetic mist, soon to be extinguished. He wandered aimlessly until he stumbled upon a stone bier, the resting place of ancient kings.

Two was so very tired.

The bier should have appeared macabre, frightening even. But Two was beyond fear or dismay. He was simply tired.

And here, right in front of him, was a place to rest.

Deep down, he knew that if he lay on it, that would be the end.

But he was so very tired.

From above, a gigantic spider leg struck down, shattering the bier and the floor beneath Two's feet. It darkened the background. If darkness was the absence of light, then the color that painted the descending spider leg was its opposite.

Once again, Two fell into darkness. But this time, he felt nothing.

When he came to, Two found he couldn't move. His limbs were firmly bound by threads of spider silk. He was caught like a fly in a web. Had he really been rescued? Or had he simply been stolen away as a snack? He found it hard to care. The song might be gone, but the apathy it had created lingered.

Still, he retained enough survival instinct to try to struggle, to free himself.

"Please, don't struggle." Two turned toward the voice and saw his so-called rescuer. It was smaller than its limb would have suggested - just a spider the size of a car. And it was merely black, not the unnerving lack of color it had been before. There were two things disturbing about it, besides it being a giant spider. First, it radiated sex appeal. Two had never thought he could find a spider attractive. And second, it spoke in Two's own voice. "The floor is covered in an illusion of hydra's blood. It's fake, but still very deadly. It would be bad if you fell."

As he lay in the web, ensnared yet paradoxically saved, Two found his voice in the midst of his apathy. "So what's your deal? Planning on having me for dinner?" His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, layered with a resignation that hadn't been there before.

The spider seemed to chuckle, a strange clicking sound that echoed through the dilapidated house, a haunting melody against the rhythmic ticking of a broken grandfather clock. Its form shimmered in the dim light, an unsettling blend of sensuality and fear. "Oh, dear Two, you wouldn't taste right at all now. Too bland... akin to white bread," it responded, still in Two's own voice.

There was a pause, filled by the spider's eight eyes staring at him with unnerving intensity. "I rescued you because you were dying, and it would have been such a waste for my sacrifice to be in vain. But," it added, a hint of mischief creeping into its tone, "I also had a more selfish motive."

Recognition dawned on Two. This creature was another manifestation of an alternate timeline Two, one of those who had died in his place. He remembered encountering a demon who claimed the same. A cold dread crept into his mind, his lethargy momentarily forgotten. "You want my life, don't you?"

"No, no, no, that would just render my sacrifice meaningless," the spider replied, shaking its head in a strangely human-like gesture. "What would be the point of dying for you, if I was to take over your life?"

"Shouldn't you be a butterfly or something?" Two shot back, his words tinged with a growing sense of disbelief and fear.

"Some people are into girls, some are into boys," the spider mused, casually crawling over the many tangled webs that decorated the room, each movement creating a subtle, shimmering dance of light and shadow. The grand old house was transformed into a macabre display, as if Halloween had arrived early. Beneath them, the floor was a bubbling pit of deadly poison, its acrid smell mixing with the musty scent of decayed wood and old spider silk.

The spider stopped in its tracks, turning to face Two, an odd smile forming on its otherwise terrifying visage. "One happens to be into spiders," it said, its eyes glinting with an odd mix of humor and sincerity. "Now, are you ready to get receive my gift, or should we continue with our little chat?"

A fleeting flicker of fear crossed Two's face at the mention of One. "Gift?" he echoed, his voice weak and raspy.

The spider's eyes twinkled, almost as if it was amused by Two's reaction. "Yes," it said, carefully making its way down the web, "The other reason I brought you here. I have something that I can no longer keep, but couldn't bear to discard. Giving it to you seemed...appropriate."

Riddles. Two remembered that Fano loved riddles. During the meals on Io, he used to play riddle games with the younger children, much to their delight. Two had always considered himself too mature to join in. A sudden pang of regret stirred in his chest at the thought. It was an unexpected feeling, slipping away like water in a leaky bucket before he could truly grasp it. "What is it?" he asked.

"My humanity, of course," the spider replied. It had now made its way to Two, standing just out of reach. Its eight eyes seemed softer now, more understanding. "All those thoughts, feelings, and memories. Now that I'm not human, they don't fit. But they are still precious. And you, dear Two, could use them. You are very...frayed."

"I suppose there's no choice," Two murmured, looking at the spider with a newfound sense of trepidation.

"But there is always a choice," the spider responded, its voice softer than before. "Just that some are harder than others." The house around them seemed to quieten, each creak of the floorboards and tick of the grandfather clock growing distant. The spider moved closer, extending a limb towards Two. "The question is, are you ready to make that choice?"

"Is it my birthday today?" Two mused, a flicker of humor in his eyes. "People keep trying to give me all sorts of things; grenades, crowns, vacation to Russia... Not that I know which day is my birthday. Give it to me. You did save me and the others. Remembering you is the least I can do."

A spider-like smile seemed to form on the creature's face. "That is surprisingly mature of you. But then again, you've always learned best through harsh lessons." The spider approached, pressing a cocooned object against Two's chest, binding it with strands of spider silk. "It will take some time for you to digest them, but that is for the best." The distinct sound of horse hooves echoed through the old house, mixing with the chime of the grandfather clock. "Your ride is here. That makes things simpler."

Like an apparition from an ancient myth, a golden chariot, reminiscent of those seen in Egyptian hieroglyphs, burst in. The intricate carvings of gods and goddesses were interwoven with delicate filigree. The twin midnight black horses pulling it had burning eyes and flaming hooves, seeming to set the path aflame. Driving the chariot was an exceptionally handsome man, dressed in an outfit that was a cross between an ancient Egyptian prince and a modern fantasy - there was an abundance of gold jewelry, and his modesty was covered by a translucent, almost transparent white kilt. The effect was almost worse than nudity; the tantalizing promise of a glimpse if one just looked closer was more distracting. The man navigated the chariot toward Two, and with a touch of his hand, the spider webs that bound Two loosened, freeing him.

"Fear not. I am here at the behest of Master Rin. My name is Khenumra," he introduced himself in a voice as smooth as silk.

As the chariot began to move, carrying Two away, he heard the spider's parting words, the voice a mere whisper against the wind, "One last mercy: if we meet again, it will be as enemies. With my humanity given away, I no longer care about you or the others."