The world stopped making sense.
Not all at once—no explosion, no scream tearing the sky apart—but in the quietest, cruelest way possible.
Netoshka stood amid broken concrete and warped metal, her breath coming out in shallow, uneven pulls. The air still vibrated from Malithra's presence, like a bruise on reality itself. Sirens wailed somewhere far away, distorted, stretched, as if struggling to exist in the same plane. Inferius Squad regrouped around her in a loose perimeter, weapons up, eyes scanning for threats that no longer obeyed physics.
That's when she heard it.
"Neto."
Her blood froze.
The voice didn't come through comms. It didn't echo. It wasn't carried by wind or sound waves. It was inside her—clean, familiar, devastatingly real.
Slowly, she turned.
He stood there as if the world had never ended.
Same face. Same posture. Same damned eyes.
The boy from the island 20 years ago.
The one who died alone.
The one she buried with her own hands, whispering promises she never got to keep.
Her knees nearly buckled.
"…No, no no no " she breathed.
"No. You're dead. I saw you Die from that Burst Wave"
He smiled—not cruelly, not mockingly. Soft. The way he always did, even when he was afraid.
"You left me," he said gently.
The world lurched.
Netoshka's vision fractured into overlapping layers—burning cities, blood-soaked hands, the island shoreline slick with rain and guilt. Her HUD flooded with error glyphs, warnings screaming over one another.
Rue noticed first.
"Neto?" Rue stepped closer.
"Hey—look at me. What do you see?"
Netoshka didn't answer.
She took a step toward him.
Then another.
Lyra moved fast, grabbing her arm.
"Netoshka—stop. There's nothing there."
Netoshka ripped her arm free with a violent jerk.
"What are you guys talking about? You don't see him," she snapped, voice shaking.
"Of course you don't."
The boy tilted his head, watching the others with quiet curiosity, like they were the ones who didn't belong.
"They never stayed," he said.
"You promised you would."
Her chest tightened like it was being crushed from the inside.
Taran swore under his breath as Netoshka's body glitched—her outline smearing, snapping forward half a meter and back again, distortion rippling through the ground beneath her boots.
"This is bad," Taran said.
"She's destabilizing."
Lyra raised her voice, sharp, commanding.
"Netoshka. Listen to me. This is not real."
"Then why does it hurt?" Netoshka screamed.
The boy stepped closer.
"You survived," he said.
"You always do. Everyone else just… dies around you."
The words cut deeper than any blade.
The world folded.
Gravity stuttered. The sky darkened, replaced by an impossible ceiling of shifting geometry. Walls rose around Netoshka—not physical, not truly—constructed of memory, regret, and guilt. A Material Cage, invisible to everyone else, but absolute to her.
Her breathing became ragged.
"No… no, no, no—"
She clawed at her head as flashes assaulted her: Yevgeny bleeding out, Krovka Squad screaming over broken comms, the island, the boy's final breath. Every failure. Every choice. Every survivor's sin stacked atop one another until her mind began to fracture.
The boy's voice softened.
"You could've saved me."
Her glitching intensified—reality around her snapping like broken film, chunks of concrete phasing in and out, time desyncing by milliseconds.
Rue tried to grab her again and got thrown back by a distortion wave.
"Malithra!" Rue shouted.
"This is her doing!"
And then—
Netoshka saw it.
Behind the boy.
A shadow that didn't belong to him.
The air rippled, and for just a fraction of a second, Malithra's presence bled through the illusion—smiling, vast, amused. Threads of psychic energy ran from her like puppet strings, anchored deep in Netoshka's memories.
An illusion.
A weapon.
A test.
Netoshka froze.
Her fists trembled.
"You're not him," she whispered.
The boy's expression flickered—just for a moment. Too slow. Too perfect.
"You're afraid to admit it," he said.
Her jaw clenched.
"No," she growled.
"I'm afraid to forgive myself."
The cage cracked.
A violent surge of distortion erupted from her core, snapping the illusion apart like glass. The boy's form unraveled into static and screaming fragments before evaporating entirely. The false sky collapsed, reality slamming back into place with a concussive shockwave that sent dust and debris flying.
Netoshka dropped to one knee, gasping.
Lyra was there instantly, gripping her shoulders.
"Neto. Stay with us."
Rue knelt on her other side, eyes wide but steady.
"Damn it, Wake up Netoshka, You're here. That wasn't real. She can't control you unless you let her."
Netoshka shook, tears streaking silently down her face.
"She knew," Netoshka whispered.
"She knew exactly where to cut me."
Taran scanned the perimeter, voice tight.
"Then that means Malithra's watching. Learning."
Netoshka slowly pushed herself to her feet.
Her eyes were hollow—but clear.
"Let her," she said quietly.
"She won't break me with ghosts."
Far above them, unseen, something ancient and hateful shifted its attention.
The Material Cage had failed.
But the war for Netoshka's soul had only begun.