"Class dismissed!"
The students rushed out of the brown-clad classroom, their footsteps echoing down the hallway as they raced one another toward the main gates. The last light of the setting sun filtered through the windows, stretching across the rows of desks and casting long shadows toward the teacher's table. Janus Zokial remained where he stood, organizing a few scattered papers before slipping them into his bag.
Only one boy lingered behind. He sat on the edge of his chair, chewing on a packaged slice of pizza while watching Janus with open curiosity.
"Mr. Zokial, do you have powers as well?"
Janus glanced at him and scratched the back of his head, considering the question more carefully than it probably required.
"No, I don't," he replied. "Do you want to have powers?"
He unzipped his bag and retrieved a small soft case from inside. The boy took another bite of his pizza and nodded eagerly.
"Yes! I want to be like my mom. She can lift heavy things very easily."
Janus opened the case and put on his glasses before answering. "If you start training tomorrow, you might not need powers at all, Jayce."
Jayce quickly folded the empty wrapper and slipped it into his pocket before shaking his head.
"Not like that! I want to be a Vessel. I want to be strong enough to carry Dad and Mom—"
Janus let out a quiet laugh and reached into his bag again, this time producing a small red lollipop.
"You would have been one if you participated in the pop quiz earlier," he said, handing it over. "Too bad I can't eat sweets. You can have mine instead."
Jayce grinned, waved, and hurried out of the room, leaving the classroom in sudden silence.
Janus stood there for a moment longer than necessary. The stillness settled comfortably around him. A small smile formed despite his effort to remain composed. It was only his second day, yet the work already felt meaningful.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way down the hallway toward the faculty room. As he approached, he could hear muffled voices and the scraping of chairs against tile. He paused briefly at the door, adjusted his posture, and then stepped inside.
"JANUS!"
A man in his forties with glasses greeted him with visible surprise. Behind him, several faculty members were struggling to fix a large banner that currently read: CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PROM-T-ON.
Another man, dressed in a plain military uniform, walked forward with measured steps.
"You must be Janus Zokial. My substitute?"
The officer looked him over carefully. Janus responded by extending his hand.
"Yes, sir. You must be Robert. Your students say they miss you already."
Robert laughed, the sound filling the room with ease.
"You must be talking about Jayce. He's an optimistic kid." He pulled the man with glasses closer. "This is Yvone. We meant to fix the banner before you came in. I depart the same day you begin, so we thought we would prepare something small. Unfortunately, Yvone works slowly. The kids grow bored."
Yvone adjusted his sleeves and slipped free of Robert's arm. "They are not bored," he corrected. "They are simply overwhelmed with knowledge."
Several teachers nearby chuckled as the three men moved toward a makeshift table set up with apple juice and trays of food. Glasses were poured. Someone turned on soft jazz music while Yvone hurried back to adjust the banner, now reading: CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR FIRST D—
Robert lightly tapped Janus on the shoulder.
"What made you choose teaching? I've heard that non-Vessels will not be reassigned to military academies. The pay is acceptable—perhaps even better than some—but there is no clear advancement. You made me curious."
Janus took a slow sip of his drink before answering.
"I suppose it is because I am not a Vessel," he said calmly. "I grew up in a foster family. My foster parents taught me a great deal about kindness and about freedom."
He turned the glass in his hand as he continued.
"I may have been unwanted because I was not a potential Vessel. I understand what that feels like. I want both Vessel and non-Vessel children to know that it does not end there. That it is still possible to grow, and still possible to be loved."
Robert listened without interruption before nodding in approval.
"I was fortunate to be born one," he replied. "I want to use that fortune properly—to repay the chances given to me. To teach, and to defend those who cannot defend themselves. If I can become an example for the Vessel students, then I will have done something worthwhile."
Janus offered him a firm thumbs-up in response, and soon afterward he found himself drawn into the gathering crowd. Faculty members raised their glasses and cheered his name while laughter and music filled the room.
Three hours later, downtown Bahaks bore little resemblance to the celebration he had left behind.
Helicopters hovered above the skyline as explosions rippled through the streets below, shattering windows and sending smoke billowing between buildings. Military vehicles and ambulances forced their way through debris-strewn roads while elite combatants descended from ropes onto fractured asphalt.
At the center of the destruction stood a single figure.
The aberrant's left arm had been torn away at the shoulder, leaving behind mangled flesh. Its remaining arm had transformed into something monstrous—a massive blackened blade fused seamlessly into its body. Thick dark fluid coated the weapon where metal and skin met, hardened as though it had grown there. Blood streamed continuously from its eyes.
Gunfire erupted in disciplined bursts. Bullets struck its torso and shoulders, causing its body to jerk with each impact, yet it refused to fall. Soldiers maintained formation, adjusting their angles to prevent crossfire while attempting to overwhelm it through sustained assault.
Without warning, the blade emitted a faint pulse.
A translucent barrier shimmered into existence around the aberrant just as another volley struck. The rounds flattened mid-air and dropped harmlessly to the ground.
"The aberrant has reached Phase Two! We need operators immediately!" one soldier shouted into his radio while dragging the severed upper half of his partner away from the open street.
Another voice cut sharply across the chaos.
"Cease fire! We have a civilian in the area!"
An overturned SUV lay several meters away from the engagement line.
The aberrant turned toward it.
Soldiers quickly repositioned, forming a defensive barrier between the creature and the vehicle. Two stepped forward and resumed firing, but their bullets continued to collapse uselessly against the shimmering shield.
Inside the crushed SUV, Janus struggled to regain consciousness. Blood blurred his vision, and a persistent ringing drowned out most of the sound around him. When the door was forced open, a soldier reached in and pulled him out by the arm.
"Can you stand?"
Janus attempted to answer but found himself unable to speak. His legs faltered as he was dragged away from the wreckage.
Behind them, a slicing sound cut through the noise with unnatural clarity.
The SUV split cleanly down the center. A mist of blood sprayed outward, and fragments of flesh struck the pavement. A soldier's head rolled toward the curb and came to rest.
The soldier tightened his grip and moved faster, breathing heavily as he attempted to create distance. Janus turned his head just in time to see the aberrant advancing toward them, dragging its blade across the asphalt. Sparks trailed behind it as metal scraped stone. Its expression twisted into what could only be described as a smile, blood and saliva dripping from its mouth.
"Fuck!"
The soldier released Janus and raised his rifle, firing in measured bursts. Each round struck the barrier and fell away without effect.
The aberrant lifted its blade.
The air between them warped abruptly, as though space itself had been cut open.
For a brief moment, nothing seemed to happen.
Then warmth spread across Janus' body.
The soldier in front of him was separated at the torso. His upper half fell forward, fingers still clenched around the trigger as the rifle split apart with him. Blood poured outward, soaking Janus where he stood.
The lower half remained upright for a heartbeat before collapsing beside it.
Janus did not move as the aberrant stepped closer, the blade dragging once more along the pavement.
The aberrant closed the remaining distance between them, and Janus understood, with a clarity that left no room for denial, that this was the end. There was no space to run, no one left between him and the creature. All he could do was face it.
The blade rose once more before driving forward into his abdomen.
The impact forced the air from his lungs. Pain did not arrive as a sharp sensation at first but as something overwhelming and consuming, spreading outward from the point of contact until it drowned out every other thought. His knees buckled, yet the blade remained lodged inside him.
The aberrant pulled it free, and with the same deliberate motion, thrust it into him again. And again.
Each strike pushed deeper than the last. Blood poured from the wounds, soaking his clothes and pooling beneath his feet. The creature's distorted wail echoed through the ruined street, its voice layered and inhuman. Blood streamed down from its eyes as though it were weeping, yet there was no sorrow in its expression—only something feverish.
With every thrust, the blade seemed to darken and thicken, as though drawing strength from him. The blackened surface pulsed faintly, feeding on the blood that coated it before piercing through him once more.
Janus remained conscious through it all.
He felt the tearing beneath his ribs. He felt the weakness spreading through his limbs. When the blade ripped lower, splitting through muscle and bone, he became aware—distantly—that his lower body was no longer responding to him.
Still, he did not lose consciousness.
He could only stand there, suspended between unbearable pain and the slow realization that his body was being destroyed piece by piece.
Without warning, the aberrant dropped to one knee and roared, its distorted voice tearing through the air. The sound was no longer directed at Janus. Its attention had shifted elsewhere.
Through the ringing in his ears, Janus began to hear footsteps approaching—steady and unhurried. He struggled to lift his head, his vision swimming as he forced himself to focus.
A man walked toward them from the smoke-filled street. He wore a plain white mask marked only by two black dots for eyes. A white coat hung neatly over his shoulders, and black gloves covered his hands. His pace was calm, almost measured, as though he were stepping into an ordinary room rather than a battlefield.
He stopped several meters away and adjusted the fit of his gloves.
The aberrant rose abruptly.
Before it could fully regain its footing, its left leg exploded outward in a violent burst, pulverized as if crushed by an invisible force. Fragments of bone and flesh scattered across the pavement. The creature howled, its body collapsing sideways before regenerating rapidly. Muscle and bone reformed in grotesque motion, knitting together until the leg stood whole again.
With renewed fury, it launched itself toward the masked man, blade extended forward in a direct thrust meant to cleave through him.
The blade halted mid-strike.
A barrier had formed—not wrapped around the masked man, but precisely in the space between the advancing blade and its target. The weapon pressed against an unseen surface, unable to advance further.
The masked man raised one hand slightly, and another barrier manifested around the aberrant's blade-arm, encasing it from wrist to shoulder. For a brief second, the creature's movement stalled.
Then the blade pulsed.
The barrier fractured instantly upon contact with it, shattering like glass under strain.
The aberrant shrieked and twisted its body, driving its right leg forward in a powerful kick aimed at the masked man's torso. Before the strike could connect, another barrier materialized at the exact point of impact.
The collision produced a heavy shockwave that rippled through the street. Though the barrier absorbed the strike, the force transferred through it, pushing the masked man backward across the pavement. His shoes scraped against the asphalt as he was driven several meters away before managing to steady himself.
The masked man steadied himself after being forced back, exhaling slowly to settle the impact still reverberating through his body. Without taking his eyes off the aberrant, he reached to his side and pulled out a radio.
"Wyman, you're up."
He lowered the device and raised his left hand, forming a subtle pulling gesture in the air.
Behind him, space distorted briefly before a human-sized sphere of shimmering barrier shot forward at tremendous speed. It passed him by inches and collided directly with the aberrant, driving the creature backward and slamming it violently into the pavement.
The spherical barrier rolled once with the impact before dissolving.
Inside it had been another man wearing the same plain white mask, though dressed in a fitted white combat uniform. He moved the instant the barrier faded, planting both hands firmly against the aberrant's chest.
The creature writhed beneath him, but something began to change. Its chest hardened first, the skin turning coarse and gray as though stone were forming beneath the surface. The solidification spread rapidly outward from the point of contact, crawling across its ribs and shoulders, then down its torso in branching fractures.
The aberrant let out a distorted scream and attempted to raise its blade-arm for a counterattack. The weapon lifted only halfway before its forearm stiffened mid-motion. The transformation overtook it, locking the limb in place as hardened stone consumed muscle and sinew.
Before the creature could force another movement, the first masked man stepped forward.
With a precise motion of his hand, a compact barrier formed tightly around the aberrant's petrified forearm. The structure compressed inward in a controlled collapse, and the stone-encased limb shattered under the pressure. The blade, no longer fused to living flesh, broke free and clattered against the pavement.
The solidification continued for only a second longer before the aberrant's body ceased moving entirely. Cracks spread through its immobilized form, and what remained of it crumbled lifelessly onto the street.
The blade, lying several meters away where it had fallen, began to tremble.
A faint pulse ran through its surface.
Before either masked man could react fully, it tore itself free from the pavement and shot forward, cutting through the air with violent intent—its target unmistakable.
Janus.
Both men moved at once.
Wyman rushed forward, extending his hands as he attempted to form a barrier around Janus' body. A translucent shield snapped into place just as the blade arrived.
It sliced through the barrier as though it were fabric.
The Lieutenant reacted immediately, erecting another barrier—thicker, denser—around Janus' torso.
The blade did not slow.
It passed through the second construct just as cleanly, leaving the shattered remnants of hardened light dispersing into the air.
For a fraction of a second, disbelief crossed the Lieutenant's posture.
Then the blade struck.
With what remained of his final breath, Janus felt a sharp, invasive pressure in his chest as the weapon drove through him. The sensation was deeper than pain; it was rupture. His vision collapsed inward, and the last sound he registered was the splintering crack of his own rib cage giving way.
His body slackened.
Wyman reached him first and gripped the embedded blade with both hands, pulling it free in a swift motion. Blood followed in a heavy spill.
Both masked men stepped back instinctively, their stances shifting from defensive to anticipatory. Something in the air had changed.
"Get back, Wyman. This one is far more dangerous now," the Lieutenant said as he erected three layered barriers behind him, anchoring them in place. "It understands our abilities."
"Lieutenant, shouldn't we call the Captain?" Wyman asked, kneeling beside Janus. He poured water from a small canister over his palm. The liquid spread across his skin before freezing rapidly, forming a jagged blade of ice reinforced with flecks of hardened debris drawn from the ground. "We could be dealing with a Type Two."
The Lieutenant reached for his radio.
Before he could speak, Janus' body began to move.
At first it was subtle—muscle tightening beneath torn fabric, bone shifting beneath broken skin. Then the reconstruction became visible. Fractured ribs pulled inward and sealed. Flesh knit together from within. Blood that had spilled across the pavement seemed to draw back toward the wound.
At the same moment, a sharp resonance pierced the Lieutenant's mind.
It was not sound. It was not thought. It felt like being recognized.
The force of it made him flinch. The radio slipped from his hand and struck the pavement. He steadied himself, vision briefly blurring, before turning fully toward Janus.
"What happened, Lieutenant? You look disoriented," Wyman asked, though his attention remained fixed on the regenerating body.
The Lieutenant stepped closer, his posture no longer guarded but uncertain.
"It can't be," he said quietly.
He studied Janus as the last of the damage disappeared from his chest.
"The Thirteenth Heaven's Vessel. It's him."