Interim 3: The Case of the Phantom Thief 

Content Warnings: Death, gore, self-harm.

Art by 莫: https://twitter.com/MosannR/status/1551946303751344129

  Central Republic used lights sparingly, but the duoverse was ever a beacon in the night. The artificial allure of The Republic was an illicium to the denizens of the dark, but only to those who could afford to see it. Leaving the central area, even the duoverse itself faded into the graveyard that remained of The Doomers' lost civilization. Many of the buildings on the outskirts themselves were remnants from a lost age. Abandoned and forgotten. Left to collapse in on themselves as a fitting monument to those who dug too deep to build too high.

  With their creators long gone, the monuments had become infested with parasites: the lower class citizens of The Republic that couldn't survive in her radiance. At such a distance from fulfilment centers and the amenities that acted as bread and circus to the masses, life here was tough. Those that owned the so called housing this far from the city center had repurposed storage facilities from Before The Fall. Paying for active duoverse registration was never worth the revenue that advertisements would provide. After all, few here bothered to see the world the same way that Republic citizens did and even fewer felt connected with a society that had already discarded them. 

  Like waste products they had been excreted without thought. Left to fester in the extremities that had already been taken by rot.

  Passing into the outskirts took a hefty toll on Fulgur Ovid. There was no legal designation in which The Republic ended and the outskirts began. Only the sudden and obvious shift from the pulse and shimmer of the duoverse to a dull and dreary world of fire and haze. Abandon all hope, ye who never crawl out of here. 

  Mirari industries had once supplied basic DV services up to the city limits, allowing citizens living on the border of The Republic to at least see the clear sky and luminous splendor that the megacity offered. They had long since cut off the service, the balancing scales tipping in favour of the more affluent citizens needs for more detailed Duotars and higher bandwidth for their many possessions.

  Fire and haze. Even in the night, when the sun wasn't out and it was safe to leave shelter without protection, there was a fog of poison hanging in the air. A miasma that weighed heavily on all those unable to escape it. Despite this, they did their best to recreate some semblance of society. Barrels were stationed haphazardly on street corners. The fires burning within, drawing out small groups of citizens like moths to a flame. Dirty, smelly, decrepit. It was hard to look at these creatures for a citizen of The Republic. Shadows danced behind each one, an ever present reminder of the danger lurking in each corner. 

  No shimmer. Hard to tell if there's a pulse. They live in the shadow of the greatest civilization there's ever been, yet can't fathom its brilliance. Plato would be appalled to learn that his message still rings true.

  Fulgur heard the message play loud and clear from no discernable source. He had been hearing it for the past 10 minutes on repeat. It was a legatio tailor-made for him. An echo of the slaughter in the slums. The birth of the machine he was today. Animus ex Machina.

  "Attention all Legati, code red warning in effect. There has been a mass homicide event at district 27. All active personnel are required to report on location and support the auxilia as they make entry."

  In the past, Fulgur Ovid would be the first on the scene. Leading entry and breaching for the eagles that rode in on his tailwind. It was what he was made for: The danger, the frontline. Skulking in after like a scavenger contradicted his very nature.

  A gasping sound cut off the order replaying itself endlessly in the wolf's head. A familiar scent greeted him like an old friend. Smoky, invasive, it set his hunter instincts alight. The burn as it hit the back of his throat was almost calming now. Inviting him to let loose the beast within. Two fingers touched the side of his neck as predator mode engulfed Fulgur in a cloak of darkness. Stepping out of the car into the wild, the Throa2 on Fulgur's neck began working overtime, struggling to cleanse all the corruption from the air before it entered his lungs.

  Creeping forward, the wolf turned his eyes to the abattoir that lay before him. In the dark of night, little could be seen of the environment itself. Pulsing and shimmering within it however, the meat market was open for business. His own personal banquet. Source of the enticing scent that lingered in the air. A pack of wolves had already attempted to pounce on their prey. Instead the ambush predator had made his move. Claws sharp and teeth bared to strike. Even with a whole pack, they were naught but toys, disposed of once the puppeteer grew bored of their futile game of cat and mouse.

  A sheep in wolf's clothing was bound to end up a lamb led to the slaughter eventually.

  Fulgur didn't bother to disable the protective features of his IIs as he scanned the scene. The seared meat and mulled wine that coated every surface outside the building didn't need much analysis. An explosion. He'd seen more than a few in his time. Like a painting on a canvas, the crime scene was easily interpreted to a connoisseur such as he. 

  "Stay out," it warned. A clear message written in the ink of others' blood. Their lives, sacrifices paid to the muses that inspired the magnum opus of this so called phantom thief. Not much of a phantom. Even a poltergeist wouldn't make this much noise. Less cat burglar and more cornered panther. Doubt they wear pink either.

  "How long until the auxilia arrive?" Fulgur asked a nearby form. The other legatus was barely discernable from the darkness around them. A red outline and the burning eyes, the only indicator that he spoke to another predator from his pack.

  "Unknown, legatus," was the only response he received. The Legati had already begun digging their claws into the ground, setting up a forward operating base for the auxilia to take command once they arrived. 

  Fulgur paced the length of the building along its perimeter. Every fiber of his being was struggling to break free. The scent of blood and seared flesh had him salivating. I was literally built for this, he told himself, the mantra overriding all previous orders. He came to the entry point of the building. Doors blasted open and still emitting a faint cloud of smoke, it was more a hole than doorway now. The sound of metal knocking against metal rang out gently through the air as he tapped his middle finger against his thigh several times. It was like the ticking of an antique clock, reaching its final hour as the cogs within wore down to their breaking point.

  Fuck it! Striding forwards, Fulgur pressed on into the confines of the building. A voice called out from behind, warning him to wait, but he paid it no heed. He was built for this. Always the breacher. Ever the man in front. Ignoring orders, he once again touched two fingers to his neck. 

  Fading into the void, Legatus was no more. A ghost, no longer bound within its shell.

  Apex protocol initiated

 Silently, Fulgur Ovid began his hunt. He no longer had any form in the duoverse. Vision, sound, all faded from existence, leaving only the self. I hunt, therefore I am.

  A crashing sound made Fulgur's hair stand on end. Reacting just in time, he rolled out of the way of a large blast door cutting down towards his head. The blast of air displaced by its hefty weight felt like a an angry puff of air from a beast, frustrated to have missed a meal with its metal jaws. On the inside of the barrier, he had been plunged into an abyss of darkness, the small flickering of fires and refracted light pollution from The Republic now cut off by solid steel. Subconsciously his eyes corrected the issue, the darkness contrasting into a barely visible haze of green and grey. Even with the best night vision technology that the professor could offer, it was hard to see more than 6 feet in front of his face.

  There were points of light however. Markings on the floor, the wall and the blast door that had just closed seemed to glow in the dark with their own ominous energy. The messages cut through all subtlety of the art outside and transformed it into a manifesto:

  Bloodthirsty animals, today you're the powerless ones!

  You're in my world now.

  Let's play a game.

  Can you hear the cry of the people?

  First your heart, then your head!

  It only took 5 lines for Fulgur to lose interest in the words. Whoever had led the legion here had some sort of vendetta, but they didn't care to make their thoughts clear. Instead it was the ravings of a lunatic he read which bored him to no end. This was his enemy's last stand and he had hoped it would be a cunning one with wit to match his tenacity. They had called the wolves and eagles into their den and attempted to make them feel like mice in a trap. Fulgur didn't feel trapped. In fact he felt more free than he had in years. In front of him lay several paths, each with endless possibilities for fun.

  Truly, this had been well prepared and thought out at one point. The building seemed to be open plan originally, but had piles of garbage and refuse piled up to the ceiling to form makeshift corridors. It might have taken months or even years to accomplish. Testing the stability of the piles with a metal foot, Fulgur found that they had a thin wire mesh holding the individual pieces in place, paired with hefty chunks of metal seemingly impaled into the ground. The mesh was so thin that it wasn't visible in such limited light but with how many lengths of the wire crisscrossed the surface it was sure to hold strong. Certain parts were even welded together. The whole mess would be a nightmare to break through. A mass of smaller fragments that would entangle and slow anyone who was actually powerful enough to tear into the sum of their parts. 

  Interest regained. I'll play your little game.

  Of the 5 paths laid before him, Fulgur chose the center one and headed straight forward, well aware that he was being watched at this very moment. A click behind him triggered another crashing sound, but this time he was prepared, having noticed the same scuff marks and damage from earlier in the building at the floor of each tunnel. This trap had been planned to capture the auxilia and split them up to take away their number advantage. Instead a single combatant strode confidently into its center, ready for whatever wild animal tried to make a meal of him.

  "Hahahahahahahahaha~"

  A laugh rang out in the dark, reverberating over all the mismatched surfaces, echoing from the walls and ceiling above all at once. It was like the building itself cackled at him, malicious intent causing him to stand still and circle slowly.

  "This one really wants to rush to his death. What's wrong puppy, you don't have any friends to protect you? Seems the lone wolf wants to be put down."

  A silence followed as Fulgur knelt down to place a hand against the ground. It IS coming from everywhere. There isn't any biological source either. Every source has the exact same frequency. His cynets confirmed what he had expected. Tiny speakers had been hidden within the piles of junk, likely connected to his enemy's neural network so that they only needed to think to speak throughout the whole building. Standing, Fulgur continued forward into the belly of the beast, wondering what other tricks had been prepared for him.

  "Come then, lone wolf, and meet your end! You might find that any step may be... your last!"

  Fulgur froze in place at that wording. Grey eyes, now glowing slightly due to the night vision, scanned the floor beneath him and confirmed his suspicions. Although the floor was littered with rubbish throughout, the section on which he had just stepped seemed to all be one solid mass which had sank into the filth around it. He likely wouldn't have noticed, had his prey not made it so obvious that he needed to deliver his killing line at an exact point. All the preparation in the world can't prevent an idiot from running their mouth.

  Squatting down slowly, Fulgur reached out to the ground and tapped the solid mass he stood on with his finger tips. Sure enough there was some form of metal and wiring attached to the mass, the material carrying the vibrations better than the other lumps of rubbish. His sensitive cynets were carrying more than just his own weight today. Unhooking his netjack, Fulgur casually touched the red tip to the ground and with a thought a small clicking sound emitted from it.

  "Fuck you," his prey echoed around him, clever words replaced by simple frustration. You wish, he thought back, refusing to give the phantom the satisfaction of banter. Had Fulgur shifted his weight too much before this, he was certain he would have been another pile of meat and cynets splattered around the room. Instead his netjack had done its job, disabling the device in little time.

  The device itself was a simple enough contraption. Essentially just a container for the deadly secret within. With a thought from a legatus the entire red tip of the netjack seemed to bleed slightly, the liquid disappearing in less than a second. This and the clicking sound were the only signs that it had activated, a scarlet warning of the danger it presented. Tens of thousands of nanobots had penetrated the mass or rubbish and found the closest piece of technology to them, in this case the IED hidden within. They ate through whatever they had to to get to their destination and continued to gorge themselves on whatever else they could find.

  Specialized for different jobs the nanobots work as one, some hacking any networks the device was connected to, others draining the energy from any source it could find and more still becoming little factories, breaking apart the materials of whatever they found themselves on, to build more nanobots to complete their objective. It only took seconds for them to destroy most technology with even the most advanced weapons at The Republic's disposal eventually succumbing to their endless hunger. It was for this reason that the netjacks provided to Legati contained nanobots with a built in death clock. All were programmed to take themselves apart after 5 minutes had passed. For those that could last longer and do more damage, the Arbiter Senate had complete control over their network in case they ever be used against The Republic's interests.

  Fulgur stood back up, kicking the mass over to see the remains of an explosive device. It looked perfectly normal form the outside but at a microscopic level it had been taken apart and repurposed. The nanobots were a virus that had digested the bomb from the inside out.

  "All good, sometimes you have to do things-"

  A tiny flash of light in front of him alerted Fulgur to the attacker too late. Sharp pain erupted in his mind as a knife sliced deftly into his shoulder. Had he not seen the flash and twisted to dodge, it would have impaled the back of his neck, no doubt severing the carotid artery and killing him almost as fast as the explosion would have. His attacker had learned his lesson, pouncing in the middle of his line. He was chaotic. Unpredictable. Exciting.

  The tiny twist of movement was combined with a colossal swing of Fulgur's arm, elbow driving into his prey's ribcage. The much smaller attacker, seemed to bounce off of the attack, coughing in anguish, but recovering several feet away and clawing his way back into the wall of rubbish. He disappeared from sight, several expletives echoing throughout the room.

  Warm blood trickled down Fulgur's chest now, staining his white shirt and making it cling to his body. As he stood up and circled slowly to take the room in once more, he felt his jacket slide over the cloth, the sticky sensation like a warm hug.

  "Come now, little pup. Cat got your tongue? You don't want to know why you have to die?" The voice echoed throughout the room, crystal clear. It was youthful and airy like a bell swept up in a breeze. The way that it sped up and slowed down erratically told Fulgur more than his words had so far. Emotionally compromised. Anger and sadness fought to be the driving force of its source. His orders were already clear. There was no other way out of this for the phantom thief and thus no need for discussion. Words are mightier than knives in some cases though...

  "You're mad," Fulgur said with steely conviction. "Lashing out at the legion for some perceived wrongdoing from the past. Stop me when I get warm: was daddy a legatus that beat you? Did mommy get taken away for a crime you think she didn't commit? Was your own punishment a little harsh for such a sweet little boy?" Fulgur laughed, eyes drifting from corner to corner of the room as he goaded on. "Do you know how many of your kind we deal with on a yearly basis? Just because they gave you the title Phantom Thief doesn't mean you're something special. You're just a wild animal that they sent the more bloodthirsty beasts to put down."

  A scratching sound made Fulgur spin around. Perched midway up a pile of rubbish, hands and feet all steady on the uneven surface like a cat ready to pounce, was a young man in his mid-twenties. Lithe and nimble, he balanced in a way that would have brought any ordinary man tumbling to the ground. One bright green eye seemed to glow with the pulse and shimmer of the duoverse. This and two softly burning orange spots on either side of his head were the only signs of him connecting with The Republic. His bright brown hair was matted to his face with filth and sweat, but his hands and clothes were shockingly clean. He wore a jacket several sizes too big for him which bunched up around his chest and throat. Underneath, the rest of his clothes seemed to be form-fitting except for oversized shoes which must have some form of magnetic attraction judging from the angle he held confidently. Bright orange stood out against black, ruining his chance of blending into the shadows, yet phantom thief was what the media had called him. Dozens of robberies ranging from Legion munition stores to private tech companies. His first murder had occurred this very night and was followed up with 6 others as Legion and Legatus alike failed to capture him alive.

  All in all he looked like a child lost between worlds, stuffed into the clothes of an older sibling and without agency of his own. Fulgur Ovid returned to the world, Apex Predator mode useless against an enemy who saw reality so clearly. The Phantom Thief's eyes widened and narrowed multiple times, taking in the wolf in both worlds at once. 

  "The same..." he whispered, not used to seeing a detailed duotar that so closely matched the reality of the man beneath. Then his eyes narrowed and a smile appeared on the youthful features, twisted and lost as the words that came out of it.

Art by IBUPROFEN: https://x.com/ibuprofen1982/status/1788570061151903780

  "The wolf follows its pack despite knowing that its evil. Would you like to know what they did to me?"  The phantom thief was almost pleading now. Desperate it seemed for someone to show interest in his story. Fulgur had read the file on the way over. Felis Nyx, the so called phantom thief who had been breaking into Republic owned buildings and stealing whatever secrets he could get his hands on. Supposedly he had connections to the Martyrists who helped keep him hidden in the outskirts between heists and acted as an information network. He had never become a citizen since his parents died at a young age and he escaped every attempt at a stable environment The Republic gave to him.

  "Organizations aren't evil, even when there are those within them that do bad," Fulgur countered. The young man's eyes widened slightly but otherwise he remained unmoved. The bright green eye focused and unfocused, scanning the room over for a moment before bearing down on Fulgur once more.

  "And if someone in your organization did something bad? Something terrible... would you punish them for it?" Slowly, the phantom thief crawled forward, down the pile of rubbish, flipping forward onto his feet at the bottom. Not a single piece of rubbish moved under his weight, nor did they make any sound. His pose was kept low, knees bent and chest forward. At any moment he was ready to leap in another direction away from the wolf.

  Those child-like eyes grew wider still, the green one piercing into Fulgur's form, the darker one not even scratching the surface.

  The phantom thief flinched and fell back as Fulgur lifted his right fist up to chest level. The wolf only stared at the inside of his palm however, waiting a moment in silence. "Wolves, eagles, no matter who they are it doesn't change the mission." His glowing grey eyes locked onto the phantom thief who steadied himself against the pile of rubbish. "Who do you think deserves punishment?"

  "No, wait!" Felis moaned, eyes shifting to the darkness beside Fulgur. All too late he felt his netjack rip free of his buckle and heard the click as it pressed against his left forearm.

  Felis Nyx cackled, fleeing back into the shadows as Fulgur swiped, pointlessly at the location he had been an instant ago. Searing pain gripped his very being, the artificial nerves and circuitry all being corrupted and destroyed by his own weapon.

  "He actually means it!" The first phantom thief called out. 

  An echo from all directions in the same voice replied, "like the ones before? They're all one pack."

  Fulgur couldn't focus on his enemy currently, the warning in his IIs taking up all his attention.

Left Arm 14% corrupted. Terminal corruption in 00:01:43

  

    Less than 2 minutes! Without another thought Fulgur scanned the room. A particularly sharp piece of sheet metal not far from him caught his eye. He moved swiftly, closing the distance in two panicked strides. Ripping it out of the pile with both hands he studied it for a moment. His left hand twitched and shook, barely able to muster the strength to hold the chunk of sheet metal so he let it fall limp at his side. Carve out the weakness. Replace it with strength.

  "Awww, what's wrong? Does the puppy need a weapon now that he's lost an arm?" The voice rang throughout the room, laughing at the end. The laugh grew in volume and venom until it suddenly fell silent, cut off by the clang of metal on metal.

  Fulgur Ovid lifted the sheet metal in his right hand and stabbed it into the flesh of his left shoulder, blood and some other orange liquid spraying over the rubbish on the floor. He grunted in pain quietly, ripping the sheet metal out of his body before plunging it in again, slightly higher this time, a larger wound being torn open where the red metal of his arm met his flesh. This time he pushed the metal in further, slamming it down with the bottom of his fist and pulling it to the side, prying the joint apart.

  Loud sounds rang out in the room of metal snapping and tearing free from flesh as blood and acid spilled onto the ground. Fulgur continued to grunt in pain, artificial nerves in his arm being destroyed from the inside out, the flesh and metal at his shoulder being ripped and torn free of one-another. A memory flashed through his mind of another trip to the outskirts. Ground completely soaked in blood. That was when his world turned to black, grey and red. The pain was the same but his reaction was different. Only a few grunts could be heard as though he merely tended to a machine.

  The scrap metal was dropped to the ground. Fulgur instead dug his right hand into the wound he just created, all sound ceasing in his mind as he finally hit that sweet point of disassociation. 

Left Arm 46% corrupted. Terminal corruption in 00:01:06

  Fingers fished through the gore, feeling out the metal that held his existence together. While his mind made a mental map of nerves, circuitry, blood vessels and metal, his eyes looked ahead at the pile of rubbish that had been welded and twisted into an outwardly stable form. Finally his fist had wrapped tight around everything that connected the red and black of his world. Without another thought Fulgur ripped, tearing out his own corrupted flesh and ripping the entire left arm free of his torso. 

  More blood sprayed out of his body as he stumbled forward onto his knees. 

  

Left Arm removed. Terminal corruption avoided

  Sound returned to Fulgur Ovid's mind before all else. Raspy breathing, practically a death rattle that echoed out of his own mouth. He forced it closed, feeling his short breaths instead spill out of his nose. Climbing up to a standing position it was sight that slowly returned to his consciousness next. The form of Felis Nyx was still exactly where he had left it. Blurrier than before thanks to the blood loss and pain, his face a mask of sheer terror as it watched the legatus rise. 

  "Why... what- you didn't have to..." Fulgur threw his left arm, now loose from his body into Felis' form, watching the arm pass straight through and land in the pile of scrap behind him. An I'mprint that only existed in the duoverse. Somehow the phantom thief had hacked the duoverse and made it so that most of the form didn't pulse and shimmer just like his own real body. Yet they still won't care about the P&S issue...

  A twist of the hips and kick of the leg caught the physical Felis Nyx by surprise. Silently making his way back to Fulgur, netjack in hand, he hadn't expected the legatus to see him coming. It was his own I'mprint that gave him away, bright green eye locking on the real world counterpart as he approached. Solid metal collided with the flesh of Felis' face so hard that it almost snapped his neck and the phantom thief fell backwards, trying to roll further away as he did. The collision had rattled his head however and unlike the last attack, this one couldn't be so easily absorbed through momentum. The roll he attempted left him a tangled mess, oversized coat caught on a rusty meat hook. Before his shell-shocked mind could figure out why he wasn't further away the wolf had pounced on him.

  A metal fist smashed into the pile of rubbish beside the phantom thief's head. His whole upper body having twisted to avoid the attack. With two metal thighs on either side of his form he could only twist and struggle as another strike was plunged into the scrap around his head. Felis writhed and struggled, his flexible form even able to kick high into Fulgur's shoulder but the force wasn't enough to do any more than annoy him. A twist of one metal leg caused a cracking sound from beneath, whether rib or arm he didn't know, but the phantom thief screamed and cursed all the same.

  Grunting in frustration, Fulgur switched tactics. His hand, already plunged into the pile of scrap metal after a second missed strike, fished around grabbing a handful of the wire mesh that held it together.

  "Get off! Get off you fucking murderer! Get away from me! Wolf fucking freak!" The physical phantom thief spewed insults and profanity ceaselessly as the I'mprint version collapsed on hands and knees beside him. When the insults received no response he instead spat, launching a glob of liquid right into Fulgur's blood-soaked cheek. The I'mprint was shouting now too, but with words that actually made sense.

  "Stop! Please! He couldn't help what he did! He's sick with grief and-"

  The metal mesh was pulled up out of the pile, snapping in various places as Fulgur yanked the solid rusted net tight across Felis's face. The man continued to thrash around, but his small fleshy form was no where near as strong as the other's cynet and only managed to shred the flesh of his face as the mesh held firm.

  "-Fell into the wrong crowd! The Martyrists are using him! He just want's revenge for his friend! Victor Rias! Please just look up Victor Rias!"

  Fulgur froze, right arm already pulled back and ready to end the life of the phantom thief beneath him. The orders had gone from arrest to kill on sight as soon as his body count hit five. Despite this, he froze for a moment staring down at the blood soaked face as it struggled to pull free of the mesh. The face, shredded by the metal was spilling blood over his oversized coat. Red, black and grey...

Art by 莫: https://twitter.com/MosannR/status/1551946303751344129

  The tension in Fulgur's body released along with a sharp exhale of air. Felis continued to struggle beneath him, but all the force he could get into his legs at this angle was only enough to rock Fulgur's body with one lung now filling with blood. The phantom thief relied on speed and flexibility and with his arms pinned at his side by Fulgur's metal thighs, there was nothing he could do other than scream more profanities and accusations without a single fact.

  "Thank you! Th-thank you! He was his childhood friend! The legion didn't need to hurt him but they-" The I'mprint fell silent as Fulgur, face splattered with blood and spit glared at him. 

  Two fingers found their way to his neck and connected his conscious mind with the neural network. Victor Rias... why are you worth all of this? Just as the search appeared in his IIs a quiet clicking sound rang out in the room. The search result was quickly replaced by another pop-up which took priority.

Left Leg 12% corrupted. Terminal corruption in 00:01:16

  Face twitching in rage, Fulgur closed both pop-ups and sneered down at Felix Nyx who began laughing hysterically. The I'mprint beside him began begging even more, insisting that he could be taken in unharmed. The laughing face was all that Fulgur saw in his mind as the raw pain of his thigh being eaten from the inside out consumed his thoughts.

  Then it was gone.

  Having not disabled the protective features of his IIs, he only saw a mass of processed meat and expanding pool of purple wine where his fist now planted into the mass of rubbish.

Art by IBUPROFEN: https://x.com/ibuprofen1982/status/1788570061151903780

  Fulgur had already lost too much blood and was in too much pain to listen to the last fevered requests of the duoverse copy of Felis Nyx which hounded him still. As the shattered neural interface at Felis' head shut down, the I'mprint begged and pleaded... something, but the outside world had already been tuned out, fading to only the red, black and grey of his own form. He vaguely remembered tears running down its face as he once more plunged the sheet metal into his own flesh, desperately hacking away at a corrupted limb, this time with only one hand.

Left leg removed. Terminal corruption avoided

  He had only made it with 14 seconds to spare this time and passed out almost immediately after the confirmation flashed to life in his IIs. When he woke up several days later in the hospital, Fulgur could hardly remember the night at all. Only that his prey had squealed something before being silenced forevermore.

Art by Hincaru: https://twitter.com/hincaru/status/1551366573012697088

*************

  Screaming in pain Fulgur stood out of bed, rooted to the spot. His left leg was searing with pain that didn't actually exist. The phantom memory of a nightmare that he had thought forgotten once cut out. Not as raw as the full body shocks he often felt, he managed to stumble across the room, books and plants scattering at his feet before he collapsed into a chair by a computer. Knocking rang out in the room as he struggled to breathe, the pain still controlling his whole body. A soft, breathy voice asked if he was alright. It was far too fast for the other to have just been awoken by the sound. He'd been there before the nightmare or the pain that came with it struck. 

  Fulgur ignored the other and paced the room, letting the pain come and go in waves. At times it felt like it was finally waning only to swell back up and threaten to make him buckle to the ground. This same event had occurred multiple times since the day he almost hit The Phantom Thief in this time and heard him scream out the name Victor Rias. Every time he solved it the same way. The dull grey of his eyes flashed to life with silver as they left power-saving mode and the feed from security cameras he'd placed around the Noctyx house without their knowledge cycled until they came to the right room. There, another timeline's phantom thief lay sleeping as sound as a baby. 

  After that day in the garden he had taken to keeping his netjack in his hand at all times, but otherwise convinced three of the four that he was back to normal. The Phantom Thief had apologized in his own way with steak, and Fulgur had done likewise by offering him a drink. It was only the psychic, currently tiptoeing back to his own room who couldn't be fooled by the stoic façade he wore on his features.

  This isn't that timeline. This will never be that timeline...

  

  A flash of red appeared in his IIsight. The same one he received every time he took them off of power-saving mode. The silver orbs faded back to grey and the real world of the present was all that Fulgur had left. That and the searing pain which threatened to consume his whole mind. If only I could return to the sleepless nights...

Art by M!N: https://x.com/96MiN69/status/1582396117701996545

Art by I Need Rice: https://twitter.com/anyonehvrice/status/1550879344712892417