Chapter 485: • To Wake The Monster
Claus’s jaw flexed at her words. For a mont, he said nothing, only stared at the ceiling with tired eyes, as though reliving the mont she’d brought up.
“Ah. That conversation. You’re referring to the one where your director called my cure ‘dangerous’ and threw in here?”
“A cure, you say? Bold claim for a man in cuffs, Doctor. Your report ntions banned drugs—Aeriostatin-B12, P.I.X3—used without authorization, and a reckless proposal to test them on civilians. That’s not a cure; that’s a scandal. Care to explain why you think your science justifies breaking Union law?”
Claus’s lips curled into a thin, bitter smile. “Justify? I don’t need to justify saving lives. The guilds are flailing, no closer to stopping the mist than they were months ago. My sister…”
His voice cracked, his blue eyes flashing with pain before hardening.
“She turned, Veyra. I watched her beco a monster. I tested those drugs on myself, stabilized my mutation, and proved they work. I’m sitting here, mind intact, while Aethel buries my research because he’s scared of ‘optics.’ Tell , Commander, how many have to die before caution becos cowardice?”
Veyra’s tone sharpened. “You compromised protocol—”
“Protocol doesn’t matter when your lungs are filling with blood and your skin’s peeling off in red mist exposure!”
Just as his voice reached a fever pitch, Veyra exhaled—low and deliberate. Her eyes flashed. A pulse of static erupted from her body, crackling through the room like a silent explosion.
The ceiling lights flickered violently, the surveillance cara sparked and sizzled, then died with a whine of lted circuits.
The room fell into a heavy, humming silence.
Veyra sighed. “There. Now we can talk freely.”
Claus blinked, glancing at the now-dead caras. “I see… Who really sent you?”
“I’m here on behalf of Board Officer Donnel.”
“I see, at least one Union officer has his head on straight. I was beginning to lose all hope in this organization. So is it just him or…?”
“The other Union board officers are missing.”
Claus’s brows drew together. “Missing? What do you an ‘missing’? How do mbers of the board even go missing?”
She sighed. “Listen. The Director—he’s been… off. For weeks. Distant. Strange. He’s ignoring critical briefings, press conferences, and is not taking any action despite the news of the missing board officers.”
She paused, looking a bit grim before she continued.
“No investigations. No announcents. Not even a notice to their families. Just—gone.” She glanced toward the dead cara.
“That’s why I’m here. I’m not acting on the Director’s orders. Sir Donnel wants your help to fix all this.”
Claus’s expression changed subtly at those words.
Veyra continued. “He wants to know—do you have a plan? Do we need to break you out, or is there a way for you to coordinate from in here?”
For the first ti, Claus smiled—small and knowing. “A plan? Of course. Just tell Donnel this: the data he needs is with an old friend. Na’s Refus.”
Veyra’s eyes narrowed. “Refus is off-grid.”
“Exactly where he needs to be,” Claus replied, standing. The chains rattled as he stepped forward. “And as for … I’m going deeper. Down to the bottom floor.”
Her eyes widened. “You want to be sent to the deeper levels? Are you insane? You do know what the Union keeps down there… right?”
He didn’t answer imdiately. Just turned his head slightly, shadows dancing across his face.
He then chuckled softly.
“Of course.”
“I need sothing down there… Well, more accurately, soone,” he said quietly. “Only he will be able to go up against Aethel.”
Veyra’s expression tightened. “Even if you wanted to, you’re not classified as a Level Black threat. You’re not even a priority cell.”
Claus chuckled, stepping back into the light, his grin laced with mischief. “Don’t worry.”
His voice dropped into a low, confident murmur.
“I have my ways.”
Veyra folded her arms. “You realize that going down there isn’t a sentence—it’s a death warrant. Whatever the Union locked away in those floors wasn’t ant to see light again. We don’t even patrol the sublevels anymore.”
“I know. Still, I’m going down there.”
Veyra didn’t move. Her brows furrowed, uncertainty flashing across her face. Then, after a beat, she asked quietly, “You said you need soone down there. Who?”
Claus’s grin widened, not with amusent—but with sothing more dangerous. He leaned forward just slightly, shadows curling around his expression like a smirk made of smoke.
“They used to call him inmate 13-LS, back when the Union president himself had to bring him in. But I called him sothing else.”
She raised a brow. “Who?”
He leaned in farther, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.
“Codena: Unlucky Seven.”
Veyra blinked. “…That’s a hell of a na.”
Claus gave a soft laugh. “It was a joke. He always said Lady Luck was his bitch while fate was his accomplice in cri. Said every ti he rolled a seven, soone died. And that he was the protagonist, and our world was a novel he starred in. He made his own fate, consequences be damned.”
Veyra crossed her arms again. “Sounds like a delusional crackhead. And what do you call him now?”
Claus tilted his head, his chain restraints rattling with the movent.
“I call him Aiku Dazar. The Fate Gambler, The only known awakened with Two talents.”
There was a long, heavy silence.
Claus’s blue eyes glead with a fire that hadn’t been there monts before.
“If anyone can kill Aethel,” he said, “it’s him.”
Veyra stared at him hard. “You’re talking about unleashing a weapon.”
Claus didn’t blink. “No. I’m talking about unleashing justice.”
The room stayed quiet for several long seconds. Then, finally, Veyra exhaled, slowly.
Veyra’s expression remained cautious. “You still haven’t explained how you plan to actually get down there.”
Claus smiled faintly, eyes glinting with mischief. “With your help, of course.”
Before she could react, a sudden pop-pop-pop! of gunfire echoed from the far end of the hallway outside the interrogation room.
The two Union officers stationed outside stiffened. One reached for his comm—too late.
CRASH!
The door slamd open as both officers burst in, weapons drawn. Their sights locked onto the scene before them—and froze.
Claus stood tall, his shackles shattered at his feet. His right arm had transford grotesquely, bulging with mutated muscle and jagged bone, warped into a monstrous claw nearly the size of his torso. And in that monstrous hand—
He held Commander Veyra off the floor by her throat.
Her boots dangled inches above the ground, her eyes wide, not with fear—but with shock and fury, crackling energy already beginning to spark across her form.
“Stand down!” one officer shouted, voice cracking.
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