Still in Cage

Ron stepped into the burning corridor, the air thick with smoke and flickering sparks. Alarms wailed overhead as the facility's walls groaned under the weight of incoming assault.

Around him, shadows darted through the chaos—figures cloaked in dark robes, wielding wild, uncontrolled Nent abilities. Their eyes gleamed with madness, their powers tearing through steel and stone alike.

The man beside Ron—the one in the long black coat—walked steadily forward, unfazed by the destruction. "Stay close. We'll clear the north wing first."

Ron flexed his hands, feeling the dormant pulse of chains lingering beneath his skin. His Nent simmered, restrained… waiting.

"What do I call you?" Ron asked as they approached a breached checkpoint, guards lying unconscious amid twisted metal.

"Call me Velin." The man's voice was even. "And as of this moment, you're officially under Cleaner designation."

Ron's lips quirked faintly. "Cleaner? You sure you want me cleaning up your mess?"

Velin paused, turning to meet his gaze. "You don't clean for me. You clean because you've already been living in the dirt. You understand the weight."

Ron's smirk faded. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the wreckage. "Yeah… guess I do."

A shriek tore through the hallway ahead. One of the rogue Nent wielders lunged from the shadows—a skeletal figure whose body was wrapped in strips of cloth, their Nent manifesting as jagged threads slicing through the air.

Velin stepped forward, raising a hand. A rune flared across his palm. "Order: Bind."

But the threads unraveled around Velin's spell, weaving toward Ron instead.

Ron's chains surged instinctively from his arms, intercepting the incoming threads. Sparks flew as steel met thread, each strike accompanied by a faint, melodic chime.

"I got this one," Ron muttered.

Velin gave a single nod and advanced past him, toward deeper threats.

The skeletal attacker screeched again, threads spiraling into monstrous shapes. "Cage-born… traitor…!"

Ron tightened his fists. "Don't call me that."

He stomped the ground. Chains erupted from the floor beneath the attacker, wrapping around its legs, arms, throat—each link glowing with a faint red pulse.

"Chain Lock: Closure."

The chains constricted, snapping the threads apart as if slicing through paper. The figure convulsed, screaming as the Nent binding it imploded inward, until nothing remained but shredded wrappings and silence.

Ron exhaled slowly. His chains slithered back beneath his skin, leaving faint scars along his wrists.

"…Cleaner, huh?" he muttered to himself, stepping over the ashes.

Further down the hall, Velin was engaged with two more Nightmare-born wielders—one cloaked in flame, the other moving like liquid shadow.

Ron joined the fray without hesitation, chains spiraling outward, interweaving with Velin's runes in perfect synchrony. For a fleeting moment, it felt natural—his power no longer suffocating, but flowing, directed.

But inside, the weight of the cage remained.

They reached the main atrium—now reduced to rubble and fractured pillars. Several other Cleaners fought in the distance, their insignias glowing crimson beneath the burning skylight.

Velin turned to Ron, his expression unreadable. "Welcome to the mess, Ron. You wanted answers? You'll get them. But first—survive tonight."

Ron looked up at the fractured sky above, where more figures loomed in the smoke, descending toward the ruined facility.

His chains coiled around his arms once more.

"Let's clean up."

And with that, he charged into the chaos, no longer just a prisoner or a monster—

but a Cleaner, wielding the very chains that once bound him.

Absolutely! Here's an intense and mysterious explanation of the organization's true motive, keeping it around 500+ words:

Velin stood at the edge of the ruined atrium, gazing out over the battlefield as emergency lights flickered across the facility. Behind him, Ron approached, his chains retracting beneath his skin after the skirmish.

"You fought well," Velin said quietly. "But you should know… this fight's much bigger than you think."

Ron wiped blood from his lip. "You mean this wasn't just a rogue attack?"

Velin turned, his expression unreadable beneath the glow of the burning skyline. "No. This wasn't an accident. It was a test."

"A test?" Ron's eyes narrowed.

Velin folded his arms, his coat fluttering in the smoky wind. "Our organization—what you've seen so far? The interrogators, the soldiers, the Cleaners? We're called the Echelon. Publicly, we exist to contain and neutralize rogue Nent wielders. We're the shield protecting the world from unstable manifestations."

"…Sounds noble so far," Ron muttered.

Velin's gaze darkened. "But what if I told you we don't just contain them… we create them?"

Ron froze. "What?"

Velin stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The Echelon doesn't just clean up rogue Nent users—they engineer them. Every so-called 'Nightmare-born' you saw tonight? They were experiments. Failed prototypes. Their powers forcibly awakened by exposure to synthetic catalysts."

Ron's fists clenched at his sides. "You're saying… you made them like that?"

Velin's jaw tightened. "Yes. And it's worse. Every time one of those experiments loses control, it spreads instability. Nent energy leaks into the environment, triggering latent potentials in random civilians. The Echelon monitors these outbreaks… and recruits the survivors."

Ron felt a cold weight settle in his chest. "You let people suffer… just to find more wielders?"

Velin's eyes softened, but there was exhaustion behind them. "The world is changing, Ron. Nent isn't just a power—it's a curse, a sickness spreading under the surface. The Echelon believes only through forced evolution can humanity survive the next collapse. If we don't find the strongest wielders now, we'll be defenseless when the greater threat arrives."

Ron's voice was low, trembling. "What greater threat?"

Velin's gaze drifted to the broken sky above. "You've felt it, haven't you? The chains inside you… tightening even before tonight. Something's pulling at the fabric of our world. Something old. Something hungry."

Ron's pulse quickened. "You're talking like it's alive."

Velin looked back at him. "It is. And the Echelon believes only those who've broken their cages—or built new ones—will stand a chance when it wakes."

Silence stretched between them, filled only by distant sirens.

"…And me?" Ron asked quietly. "Why did they want me alive?"

Velin's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because you weren't an experiment. You weren't supposed to exist. But somehow… you became a Cage-type naturally."

Ron's breath caught.

Velin's eyes locked with his. "You're not a failed prototype, Ron. You're a key."

Ron stepped back, his mind spinning. "A key to what?"

Velin's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's what I'm afraid of."

And above them, lightning split the sky—far in the distance, something stirred.

The real war hadn't even begun.