Redemption Edge's

The cold, dimly lit corridor of Abysra's lower levels smelled of blood, rust, and damp stone. The flickering overhead lights barely illuminated the grim walls lined with reinforced cells, each housing those deemed too dangerous for the surface world.

Samuel, Lilian, Gideon, and Thorne moved quickly through the labyrinth of steel and concrete. There was no time to waste.

When they reached Barry's cell, Samuel didn't hesitate. He jammed the key into the lock and turned it. The heavy door groaned open.

Barry sat on the floor, his body covered in bruises, blood caked on his skin. He looked up, his golden eyes dull, his movements sluggish. The torture had taken its toll.

For a moment, he just stared at them, uncomprehending. Then—Lilian ran to him.

She threw herself into his arms, holding him tight, burying her face against his shoulder.

"Barry," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Barry felt her warmth, her heartbeat against his chest. Her scent cut through the stench of blood and despair. Then, without thinking, she kissed him.

The world around him blurred. For a moment, there was no prison, no blood, no pain. Just her.

When they finally pulled away, Barry's eyes flickered between all of them, confused.

"Why are you here?" His voice was hoarse.

Samuel smirked, arms crossed, leaning against the doorway like he wasn't currently breaking one of the highest laws in Edenia.

"Hate to admit it, boss, but I need to free your sorry ass."

Barry blinked. His 'boss'? Samuel never called him that, not after knowing the truth.

He looked at the others—Thorne, standing tall and defiant; Gideon, grinning like the mad bastard he was; and Lilian, still holding him, her hands shaking slightly.

As they walked out of the cell block, Barry still felt the weight of the chains in his mind, even though they were gone. His body ached, but the sight of freedom ahead pushed him forward.

Stone stood at the end of the corridor, arms crossed, jaw clenched, watching them approach. Her expression was unreadable—cold, calculating, but deep inside, there was something else.

The CPG guards stationed at the doors instinctively raised their weapons, ready to block their path.

But before a single shot was fired, Stone raised a hand.

"Stand down."

The guards hesitated. Confused glances were exchanged.

"But Captain—" one of them started, but Stone cut him off.

"Barry Leighton is no longer under Abysra's jurisdiction." She spoke each word with deadly precision. "He is now the responsibility of Yuccavale."

For the first time since this mess started, Samuel grinned. Lilian exhaled in relief, and Thorne gave Stone an approving nod. Gideon, the old bastard, just burst into laughter.

"Damn, Captain," he cackled, "Didn't know you could switch sides so fast. Maybe next time, you can give us a ride—just like how you used to ride that old dog of yours."

A vein twitched on Stone's temple. Her fingers curled into fists. But she didn't react. Not with words. Not with violence.

Just a sharp, burning glare that promised if Gideon pushed any further, she'd throw him in the deepest pit of Abysra herself.

Still grinning, Gideon slapped Barry on the back. "C'mon, wolf-boy. Let's get the hell outta here before she changes her mind."

As the group stood at the Abysra Gate, Lillian pulled out her phone to call a taxi.

Gideon let out an annoyed grunt. "Why are we calling a taxi when I have a car?"

Lillian shot him a look. "Because we don't want to die today."

Samuel nodded. "Yeah, last time I sat in that thing, I thought I was gonna lose a lung from all the fumes."

Thorne crossed his arms. "I'd rather walk than risk getting blown up in that death trap."

Gideon scoffed, muttering something about ungrateful passengers. Meanwhile, Barry just stood there, watching the exchange with a confused expression, unsure whose side to take. Finally, they split up.

The taxi screeched to a stop, its tires grinding against the dirt-streaked pavement. Without a word, Lillian yanked open the door, slipping into the backseat. Samuel and Thorne followed, sliding in beside her. Barry hesitated for a split second before ducking in last, the door slamming shut behind him.

Through the rain-speckled window, Gideon stood beside his old Gearbox Stallion, arms crossed as he muttered curses under his breath. The engine roared, then sputtered—choking like a dying animal. Barry swore he saw a flicker of fire spit from the exhaust before the car finally lurched forward, disappearing into the night.

Inside the taxi, silence wrapped around them like a heavy shroud. The air was thick, buzzing with unspoken words and barely restrained tension. Barry sat stiffly, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. He felt the weight of three pairs of eyes drilling into him.

Then he exhaled and spoke. "Thanks... for bailing me out."

No one responded immediately.

Lillian crossed her arms. "Don't thank us yet."

Barry frowned. "What?"

Samuel scoffed, shaking his head. "Do you even get how bad things are right now?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the hum of the taxi's engine. "Fletcher's still out there, lurking in the shadows, doing God-knows-what. The CPG slapped fifty billion Lyd on his head. Fifty billion, Barry. Every bounty hunter, mercenary, and scumbag from here to the Frostfang Highlands is gonna be gunning for him, but you its not a good thing. Higher bounty means higher threat."

Barry's throat went dry. He already knew about the bounty, but hearing Samuel say it like that made it feel even more real.

Thorne leaned forward, his piercing gaze locking onto Barry's. "And that's not even the worst part."

Barry's jaw tightened. "What could possibly be worse than that?"

Thorne's voice was grim. "Yuccavale is in danger. Ever since you got taken, things have been unraveling fast. The town's on edge, people are scared, and the CPG's presence is growing. If we don't handle this now, Yuccavale is going to burn."

Barry's heartbeat pounded in his ears. He glanced at Samuel, expecting him to look away, but instead, Samuel met his gaze with something deeper—resentment, yes, but also reluctant understanding.

Samuel exhaled sharply. "I was pissed when I found out you lied to me." His voice was tight, controlled, but Barry could hear the raw emotion behind it. "I trusted you, and you kept secrets. But..." He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost disgusted with himself. "Even I have to admit it. We need you, Barry."

Barry stared at them, his chest tightening. They weren't just here because they wanted to save his ass. They were here because Yuccavale—his home—was falling apart. Because Fletcher was still out there, twisting the knife deeper into the town's wounds.

The taxi rattled to a stop in front of Yuccavale's town hall, its engine sputtering in the cold night air. Barry was the first to step out, scanning the dimly lit streets before the others followed. Lillian adjusted the coat around her shoulders, her expression unreadable, while Samuel exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands together as if shaking off a lingering unease. Thorne lingered a moment longer, his sharp gaze sweeping the area before he shut the taxi door behind him.

The town hall stood tall and silent, its old wooden frame groaning in the wind. Gas lamps flickered against the night, casting long shadows along the empty streets. No sign of Fletcher. No sign of his mutants. But that didn't mean they weren't out there, watching.

As soon as they stepped inside, Lillian took the lead, striding toward the central table. "Fletcher's been quiet," she said without preamble, folding her arms. "Too quiet."

Thorne leaned against the wall, his fingers resting near the hilt of his knife. "Which means he's planning something." His voice was low, cautious. "That bastard doesn't just disappear unless he's setting up for something big."

Samuel scoffed, shaking his head. "With a fifty billion Lyd bounty on his head, he doesn't have much of a choice. Every bounty hunter, merc, and mutant hater on the continent will be looking to cash in."

Barry pulled out a chair and sat, resting his arms on the table. "Fifty billion… that's not just a bounty. That's a declaration."

"They're raising the stakes." Lillian's tone was clipped, her fingers tapping lightly against her sleeve. "The CPG sees him as more than just a rogue mutant. They see him as a threat to their control."

Thorne narrowed his eyes. "And what about us? If Fletcher's worth that much, its mean he's top priority and could destroy us, right?"

A tense silence fell over the room. The implication hung in the air like a noose. The CPG didn't play around with numbers like that. If Fletcher was labeled as a top-tier threat, then anyone connected to him—directly or indirectly—was at risk of becoming collateral damage.

Barry ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through gritted teeth. "We need to figure out what he's up to before the CPG decides Yuccavale is worth burning to the ground."

Outside, the wind howled through the streets, carrying with it the weight of an inevitable storm.

Beneath the town of Yuccavale, in the damp, rotting underbelly of the old sewer system, something unnatural stirred. The tunnels twisted into a labyrinth of filth and decay, where rats grew bold and the walls pulsed with moisture like the skin of some ancient beast. The air reeked of mildew, iron, and something else—something far worse.

Fletcher stood at the center of it all, his body shifting between forms like a nightmare caught between worlds. His eldritch presence twisted the space around him; shadows stretched where they shouldn't, the stone walls seemed to breathe, and the water in the sewer churned as if trying to crawl away from him. His elongated limbs twitched with a quiet hunger, his many eyes—some human, others grotesquely inhuman—blinked in discordant patterns. His voice, when it came, slithered through the tunnels like a living thing.

"They think they can hunt me."

The words dripped with amusement and malice, echoing unnaturally, as if spoken by many voices at once.

One by one, his mutant allies emerged from the darkness, each drawn to his power, each eager for the promise of blood.

Varn, the Plague Bringer: A hulking figure stepped forward, his skin riddled with open sores that oozed a toxic, greenish mist. Varn had once been a simple mercenary, but after years of exposure to mutosterone experiments, his body had become a walking contagion. His breath alone could rot flesh, and his touch could spread a wasting disease that liquefied organs within hours.

He knelt before Fletcher, his voice thick with reverence. "Let their flesh melt, their lungs blacken—Yuccavale will be a tomb before the CPG even arrives."

Fletcher's many eyes flicked toward him in acknowledgment. "Make them suffer, Varn. But not too quickly. I want them to fear before they rot."

Selene, the Phantom Blade: A lithe figure materialized from the shadows, her body flickering between existence like a mirage. Selene was once an assassin for hire, her ability to phase through solid matter making her untouchable. Her mutations had evolved beyond simple intangibility—now, she could step between dimensions, vanishing from sight entirely and reappearing behind her targets in the blink of an eye.

She tilted her head, her crimson eyes glinting. "Their sentries will never see me coming. By the time they realize, their throats will already be open."

Fletcher grinned, his mouth splitting wider than any human's should. "Then make sure their fear lasts long enough for them to scream."

Dreg, the Bone Reaver: A skeletal figure, wrapped in sinew and jagged bone, stalked forward. His mutations had stripped him of human softness, replacing it with living weaponry. His ribs jutted out like serrated knives, his fingers sharpened into claws, and his spine coiled like a whip made of sharpened vertebrae. Dreg was a living weapon, and he relished in carnage.

His voice was a low growl. "Let me lead the first strike. The moment their gates fall, I'll rip through them like paper."

Fletcher extended a clawed hand, lightly tracing the ridges of Dreg's bone-plated skull. "Tear them apart, but leave their leader breathing. I want her to watch before the end."

Scylla, the Mind Leech: From the ceiling, something slithered downward—a mass of limbs and pulsating tendrils that ended in barbed, needle-like tips. Scylla's humanoid form had long been swallowed by her mutations, leaving only a grotesque hybrid of flesh and parasitic horror. She no longer spoke with a mouth, but through the minds of those around her, her thoughts dripping into their heads like oil.

Her voice slid through Fletcher's mind. "The people of Yuccavale are weak. Their minds are pliable. I will twist them from within, turn them against each other. Let them tear themselves apart while we watch."

Fletcher chuckled, his body shifting as he spread his arms. "Let them break their own chains before we crush the rest."

Fletcher turned to his gathered lieutenants, his monstrous form looming over them. His voice thundered through the tunnels. "We strike at dawn."