Corrupted Bonds-Chapter 95: Punch It In The Mouth

The silence that followed the Remnant's answer was total.

A stillness laced with grief, exhaustion—and something else.

Unspoken dread.

But Ari couldn't take it anymore.

She'd stood in the back till now, jaw tight, fingers twitching at her sides, fists opening and closing rhythmically like she was trying to bleed off adrenaline through her skin.

She wasn't built for this kind of pain.

Not the slow, ghost-haunted, memory-eating kind.

She was a brawler. A fighter.

Her language was action.

And this—this stillness—was killing her.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Her voice cracked like a slap across water.

Everyone turned. Even the Remnant.

Ari stepped forward, eyes blazing—not out of aggression, but frustration, like someone trying to breathe underwater.

"Because I swear to god, I've heard more versions of 'I loved him once' in the past ten minutes than I ever want to again, and I'm still not even sure if you're a threat or a really tragic ex."

Zora made a low sound—almost a chuckle.

Ren snorted softly, rubbing a hand over his face like thank god someone said it.

Ari's eyes locked onto the Remnant.

"You say you're not here to take his place. Fine. Then what are you here for?"

She gestured to Lucian and Rowan with one sweep of her arm.

"Because that guy?" She pointed at Lucian. "He just erased a part of himself to protect him." Her finger moved to Rowan. "And he has bled and burned to hold this team together."

Her voice dropped.

"So if you're here to haunt them, to play memory museum for the version you lost... you can go back to whatever vault you came from."

The Remnant didn't flinch.

But for the first time, he looked... genuinely taken aback.

Not insulted.

Just surprised.

Like no one had spoken to him like that in decades.

"You care about him," he said softly.

Ari blinked.

"No shit."

She crossed her arms, biting her tongue for a second before adding—quieter:

"We all do. He's one of us."

Rowan exhaled shakily.

A soft sound.

Almost a laugh.

But not quite.

Lucian didn't speak, but a tear traced down the side of his face, catching in the dip of his cheekbone.

The Remnant studied Ari for a long moment.

The corners of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but something close. The kind of expression you give someone who just reminded you what living sounds like.

"You're not like the others," he said quietly. "Most people tiptoe around grief. You punch it in the mouth."

Ari raised an eyebrow, half-daring him to say more.

The Remnant's eyes softened. Just slightly.

"I had an Ari once," he added, almost to himself. "She didn't make it past Site D3."

A pause. His voice stayed even.

"She never got to say goodbye to anyone."

That landed quietly.

Not world-ending. Not dramatic.

But real.

Something small, folded in the corner of a much bigger story—like the tear in an old photo you almost didn't notice.

Ari's jaw clenched, but she didn't speak again.

She just gave him a short nod.

Not forgiveness.

Not approval.

Just... understanding.

The moment was interrupted by a low hum.

[System audio override initiated.] 

The lights dimmed slightly.

Resonance lines along the walls pulsed in time with the system's voice—deep, mechanical, but now eerily familiar.

[Subject VAUGHN_00 catalogued. Stability threshold maintained.]

[Final chamber sequence initiated. Awaiting authorization...] 

[Proceed with caution. Final integrity test ahead.] 

The glyph behind the Remnant began to glow brighter, casting faint outlines across the chamber.

But he didn't move to leave. Not yet.

Instead, he stepped toward Lucian—slowly, deliberately. The chamber didn't stop him. Neither did the system.

Rowan stiffened at Lucian's side, but didn't pull away.

The Remnant knelt—mirroring Lucian's injured posture with eerie precision. For a moment, it was like watching one soul reach for its reflection through glass.

"You're barely holding together," the Remnant murmured.

Lucian gave a broken breath of a laugh. "You sound surprised."

"Not surprised," the Remnant said gently. "Just... sorry."

He placed his palm just over Lucian's chest—lightly, right above the solar plexus.

A faint surge of resonance bloomed there. Not aggressive. Not invasive. Just a soft pulse, like a heartbeat echoing backward.

Lucian flinched—but didn't pull away.

His breathing steadied. His trembling slowed. Some of the grayish tint drained from his face. The pain didn't disappear, but it eased—the kind of relief only someone who knew the damage could give.

"It's not much," the Remnant said. "But it should buy you a little time. You'll need it."

Lucian looked up at him, eyes glassy. "Why help me?"

The Remnant gave a tired, fractured smile.

"Because if I'd had one more breath in my timeline, I would've used it to save him too."

The glyph behind the Remnant began to glow brighter, casting faint outlines across the chamber.

The Remnant stepped back, the system's light washing over his frame until it blurred the sharp edges of his coat and hair—until he looked more like a memory than a man.

He didn't move to follow.

He just watched them all for one final beat—his eyes lingering on Rowan and Lucian, then drifting briefly to Ari.

"I won't see you again," he said quietly. "But... I think this version of us might actually make it." freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Then he turned—slow and weightless, like gravity meant nothing to him anymore—and walked back toward the still cradle, the glyphs pulsing faintly underfoot.

And with that, he was gone.

---

Rowan squeezed Lucian's hand.

Ari looked to the others.

And the chamber, once still, felt like it had just inhaled.

The glyph door opened with no sound.

That was the first warning.

No screech of shifting plates, no pulse of resistance from the system. Just a clean, silent parting—like a mouth opening mid-prayer.

Ari was the first to step in.

Her boots touched the threshold and her jaw tensed instantly, like she'd walked into a room that didn't want to acknowledge her presence. She scanned the walls—too smooth, almost sterile, like polished bone.

"Feels like a morgue," she muttered.

Zora followed, his twin swords resting lightly on his back, but one hand lingered near the hilt anyway. His pupils contracted slightly as he looked up.

The ceiling was perfectly domed, white light emanating from seams that didn't seem to exist when you looked directly at them.

"This place wasn't built. It was... grown," he murmured. "It shouldn't feel this alive."

Mira entered third, sniper cradled tight to her chest, her coat brushing softly against her knees. Her gaze swept every corner—quick, efficient, surgical.

"No shadows," she noted. "Not even under us."

Jasper came in behind her, and his breath hitched. The usual breeze around him stalled—like even the air didn't want to move here.

He whispered, half-joking:

"Did we just step into a system's dream?"

Ren wandered in next, visibly unsettled. He gave a forced little grin that didn't touch his eyes and bumped shoulders with Rowan on the way in.

"Ten creds says this place tries to eat us."

Quinn didn't respond. He walked with a tight stillness, his arms loose but not relaxed, eyes flicking toward Rowan more than the walls. Watching for collapse. Or escalation.

Lucian stepped in last, Rowan beside him, hand under his elbow like scaffolding beneath cracked glass.

Lucian's expression barely changed. But his steps were slow. Heavy.

He wasn't just wounded. He was listening—like the walls were whispering things he couldn't quite hear yet.

"It's too stable," he rasped. "This space... it's holding something back."

Rowan squeezed his elbow gently.

"Then let's not let it get too comfortable."

The further they walked, the more wrong it felt.

There were no seams. No systems. No ambient hum.

Just perfection.

Too precise. Too balanced.

Quinn whispered as they passed through a corridor flanked by mirrored walls—reflections that didn't always move in sync.

"This isn't a place. It's a judgment."

Ari spun on her heel, walking backward for a few steps.

"Cool. So we're on trial now. What's the verdict?"

"Still pending," Lucian muttered.

Vespera, trailing behind them, finally spoke, her voice quieter than usual.

"Do you feel that?" she asked.

Everyone paused.

Lucian looked up. Rowan turned slightly. Quinn froze mid-step.

"It's... resonance," Vespera continued, "but artificial. Like a chorus with no soul behind it."

Sloane, behind her, touched her shoulder lightly.

"It's watching," he said.

The hallway ended.

Or maybe it began.

Before them: a wide chamber.

Circular. Vaulted. Empty.

But on the far end—a structure was forming. Slowly. Like skin stretching over bone.

Something was coming.

And every person in the room—Espers and Guides —felt it in their teeth.

No one spoke at first.

They just stood there—like a fault line waiting to split.

The chamber ahead pulsed once with a light too soft to be comforting. It cast no shadows. Only a shimmer across their boots, like they were standing on the edge of memory.

Ari shifted her stance.

Rolled her shoulder once.

Tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and muttered:

"Whatever that is... I'm punching it first."

Zora tilted his head. The soft curve of his mouth twitched—not quite a smirk, not quite a grimace.

"Save some for the rest of us," he murmured, adjusting the curve of his twin swords on his back.

Jasper inhaled shallowly, like the wind in his chest had coiled.

"It feels like the air's holding its breath."

Mira didn't speak.

She just reached down and checked the chamber on her sniper again. Quick. Smooth. Her breath fogged slightly, despite the temperature not dropping. Her stance was tight. Shoulders squared.

Ready.

Ren rubbed his palms together, trying to bleed off nerves as his voice dipped into forced bravado.

"Alright, so—worst case scenario, this is a mimic ghost chamber that tries to rip our identities out one by one, yeah?"

No one laughed.

He blinked.

"...Right. No takers on that joke. Cool."

Quinn's hands flexed, slow and precise. His fingers brushed over the inside of his wrist, activating the resonance brace there. His eyes flicked toward Rowan again.

He said nothing.

But his body angled ever so slightly toward the heart of the team—shielding where he could.

Rowan was watching Lucian.

Lucian, who had stopped mid-step.

His head tilted slightly toward the chamber's center.

His eyes were unfocused—but glowing faintly violet.

Sweat gathered along his temples.

Rowan whispered.

"What do you hear?"

Lucian didn't answer right away.

Then, barely above a breath:

"It's... not speaking. It's remembering."

Rowan's eyes darkened slightly, hand drifting to rest over Lucian's ribs—where his breathing had started to stutter again.

He looked to the team.

"Everyone stay close. Don't trust what you see if it turns familiar."

And then—

The lights changed.

From soft shimmer

to pulse.

From white

to violet.

And the thing in the center of the chamber... began to take form.

The chamber didn't crack open—it screamed.

The glyph seal detonated in a pulse of resonance that fractured the walls like glass.

A black fog surged from the floor, thick with static and screaming.

And from it, they emerged.

Ari. Zora. Jasper. Mira. Quinn. Vespera. Sloane. Lucian. Ren

All duplicated. All wrong.

Same faces. Same stances. But their expressions were twisted—smirking, cocky, eyes filled with a glint that reeked of superiority.

Rowan took a step back.

He could feel it.

These weren't echoes.

They were reflections—warped, sharpened, perfected for pain.

"You brought us here?"

the Vespera reflection purred, her silver chime spinning lazily in her fingers.

"How adorable. Hope you packed trauma."

"Heh," the Sloane reflection said, tilting his head. "You always were too slow, old man."

The floor beneath him cracked as he flexed his hands—terrain shifting in gentle ripples, like breath before a scream.

"Nice blades," the Ari reflection taunted. "I polish mine with spine."

And the Lucian reflection, all coiled silence and malice, smiled without teeth.

He looked at Rowan. Not anyone else.

"Let's see how much of him you can keep... before I carve the rest out."

Then came the first blow—and all hell followed.