The Hideout (Flashback)

The heavy steel door groaned as it slid open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. Alex took a slow breath and stepped forward, the dim emergency lights flickering to life.

Then—everything changed.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the entire facility awoke. Bright golden-blue light surged through hidden circuits along the walls, illuminating the vast underground complex.

Holographic displays flared to life, filling the air with cascading data streams, 3D blueprints, and shifting world maps tracking real-time events. The ceiling above him, impossibly high for something built underground, morphed into a panoramic view of the night sky, complete with drifting constellations as if he were standing beneath the open heavens.

Alex's breath caught in his throat.

Rows of sleek, ultra-modern workstations lined the walls, each one more advanced than anything he had ever seen. Transparent glass panels displayed projected interfaces, responding to unseen commands as if they had a mind. A network of interwoven corridors stretched beyond his sight, leading to labs, living quarters, and research chambers bathed in soft, ambient lighting.

He turned in slow awe, his mind racing.

His mother had sent him here. It was as if she was prepared for them to be attacked.

But why?

A few minutes passed, but Alex remained frozen, his mind still struggling to process the sheer magnitude of what he saw. This place—this impossible sanctuary—was unlike anything he had imagined. But as the awe settled, something else crept in—the weight was heavy and suffocating.

Then everything came crashing down at once.

His family might be gone.

His clan might also been wiped out.

The people he had laughed with, fought with, argued with—wiped from existence in a single, merciless stroke.

And then there was the blood. Its warm, sickly stickiness still clung to his skin, even though it had long dried—his first kill.

A few minutes passed, but the awe in Alex's eyes had begun to fade.

The weight of exhaustion, which he had pushed aside for so long, crashed down on him like an avalanche. His legs wobbled, his breath came out in ragged gasps, and his knees buckled before he could take another step. He collapsed onto the cold marble floor, his body trembling, his arms barely strong enough to keep him upright.

His stamina had finally given out.

For hours—he had been running on willpower alone, forcing himself forward, telling himself that if he just kept moving, he could outrun the horror, the loss, the blood on his hands. But now that he had made it here and was safe, everything came rushing back.

His family was gone.

He had taken a life for the first time.

The moment replayed in his mind like a haunting melody—his blade sinking into flesh, the shocked gasp, the warmth of blood splattering against his skin. It didn't matter that the man deserved it. It didn't matter that the clan always ensured their heirs were prepared to kill if necessary.

Being prepared was one thing.

Taking a life was something else entirely; this was not a novel where as long as you are prepared to kill, it will be ok in the grand scene of things"

This was real life,

His stomach churned violently. He barely had time to turn to the side before he started vomiting, his body rejecting the weight of what he had done. The acidic burn in his throat was nothing compared to the crushing pain in his chest.

As if his body could take no more, the vomiting devolved into deep, gut-wrenching sobs. Tears streamed down his face, and his fingers clawed at the unyielding floor as he gasped for breath. At that moment, with all its brilliance and technological marvels, the bunker around him felt suffocating.

He was alone.

He had survived.

…..

Alex didn't know how long he lay there, curled on the cold marble, his body wracked with sobs. His throat was raw, his limbs numb, but the pain inside him refused to fade. It clawed at his chest, an unbearable weight pressing down until he could barely breathe.

Grief. Rage. Guilt.

Each wave crashed over him, pulling him deeper into the abyss.

Minutes passed. Then hours.

And slowly—painfully—something inside him began to change.

The tears kept falling, but their weight lessened. The sobs grew quieter. His breathing steadied, and his mind—though still shattered—began to settle. It wasn't peace. It wasn't acceptance. It was something darker.

A part of him, the part that still wanted to scream and break everything around him, grew silent. The fire of his rage cooled—not extinguished but hardened into something cold, unrelenting.

His eyes, once filled with life, dulled.

The boy who had stumbled into this place, overwhelmed with loss, was fading. In his place, something else was being born.

Something ruthless.

Something driven.

His fingers clenched into fists against the marble floor, and his knuckles turned white. He took a slow, shuddering breath, and his mind focused on a single, absolute truth.

They had taken everything from him.

And he would make them pay.

It was no longer just survival. It was vengeance.

His lips parted, and in a hoarse whisper, he made his vow.

"I'll kill them all."

"Even if I have to form a contract with a devil, I will make them pay every single one."

The words hung in the air, cold and final.

And then—

A sound.

It was soft, almost imperceptible at first, yet unmistakable: the gentle click of claws against the floor, a measured, deliberate approach.

Then, a voice—low, knowing, edged with sadness at its edge.

"So… you finally arrived here, Alex."

Alex's breath hitched. His head snapped up, his body tensing as his exhausted mind struggled to process what he was hearing.

Footsteps. Slow, unhurried. Drawing closer.

His vision blurred from the lingering tears, but through the haze, he saw movement.

Someone was here.

And then, as the figure stepped into the dim light, his heart clenched.

"Nyxara."