Deep within the residential wing of the facility—where silence hung like a sheet of lead—Tiflos sat on the edge of the bed.
The black mission suit clung to his body like a second skin.
The long coat lay beside him, a silent witness.
In his hand rested the red sword—the unsettling companion that had become an extension of his arm.
Hours passed like this.
His head was lowered, silver eyes fixed on the cold floor as if searching for answers between the cracks.
This was not contemplation.
It was surrender—to an inevitable fate.
---
Slowly, painfully, Tiflos lifted his head.
The motion was mechanical, like a puppet pulled by unseen strings.
He stood, his grip tightening around the sword's hilt until his knuckles turned white.
He left the room with swift, decisive steps—
a ghost moving through dim corridors.
He passed the dining hall without looking.
His dry eyes resembled frozen lakes at a forgotten pole—
no life beneath their surface, not a trace of humanity disturbing their stillness.
---
In one of the corridors, Selena was waiting.
She leaned against the wall, silver eyes watching his approach with a mix of challenge and curiosity.
"So this is the leadership candidate…" her voice carried hidden mockery.
"Or should I say—Commander Tiflos?"
He passed her like the wind.
No glance.
No response.
The red sword in his hand gleamed with metallic coldness, as if whispering a warning—but Selena did not hear it.
She assumed arrogance had taken hold of him, that the new rank had gone to his head.
"Hey, Tiflos! Don't forget you're still a rookie compared to us!" her voice rose.
"Don't think you're better than everyone else!"
Her words fell like sand against stone.
No effect.
No echo.
To him, she was nothing more than an irritating insect—unworthy even of a reply.
---
He reached Cain's office, Selena's sharp words still chasing him.
Without hesitation—
He kicked the door open.
The echo thundered through the empty corridor.
The office was empty.
Cain was not there.
Selena rushed in behind him, eyes wide in shock.
"What are you doing?! Kicking the commander's door? Have you really decided you're special now—doing whatever you want?!"
Here—
Tiflos turned slowly.
His steps were heavy, deliberate.
Each one rang through the silence like the ticking of a death clock.
A primal sense of danger seized Selena.
She backed away until her back hit the wall beside the door.
He looked into her eyes.
His voice fell like shards of ice:
"Stop the noise."
---
The next movement was slow.
Intentional.
Like an artist painting his final masterpiece.
The red sword slid into her abdomen with horrifying smoothness.
Selena looked down—
eyes unable to comprehend what she saw.
The blade inside her body.
Warm blood dripping onto the cold floor.
She looked at him.
Words died on her lips before they could be spoken.
Tiflos gave her no time.
He pulled the sword free in a single motion, then exited the room exactly as he had entered—
leaving her behind as her body collapsed to the floor.
---
Tiflos walked the corridors like a silent storm.
His steps were heavy, calculated.
Every hall he passed, every door he kicked in, rang like a death knell through the facility.
Doors crumpled beneath his feet like autumn leaves.
Trainers and instructors watched, frozen—
faces pale, bodies unable to move.
In his silver eyes there was neither life nor death.
Only emptiness.
As if every star inside him had gone dark.
One glance from him was enough to freeze blood in veins.
---
He entered one of the great halls.
The door shattered beneath his kick.
At the far right corner—
Cain stood calmly.
Beside him, a young female instructor.
Tiflos said nothing.
His body launched forward like an arrow.
He took an assault stance, a dense, translucent aura wrapping around him like a shield of pure energy.
His speed was unreal—
the whistle of slicing air mixing with the roar of a storm.
The red sword flashed, aimed directly at Cain's neck.
But—
The body it struck dissolved into thin mist.
An illusion.
Nothing more than a fog-born replica.
Tiflos planted his feet, silver eyes widening for a rare instant of surprise.
The instructor before him froze in terror.
Then—
A cold whisper behind him:
"You're very late, Tiflos…
So late I thought you wouldn't even try."
Tiflos tried to turn, to evade—
Too late.
Cain's arm struck from behind, clamping around his neck like a steel vice.
With the same force Tiflos had used to break doors—
Cain hurled him into the wall.
BOOOOM!
The wall warped under the impact.
Cracks spread like a shattered spiderweb.
Tiflos was embedded in the crater, plaster dust falling around him like deathly snow.
Cain stood before him.
Golden eyes glowing—not with rage, but with the gaze of a deceptive teacher.
And beneath it—
Something else.
Pride, mixed with disappointment.
"Do you really think strength alone is enough to face me?" Cain said softly, his voice sharp as a blade.
"I taught you better than this, Tiflos."
Pinned to the wall, Tiflos remained silent.
But his silver eyes met Cain's for the first time—
Not with emptiness.
With something far deeper.
Fury.
---
Tiflos regained consciousness.
His neck felt twisted like warped metal.
Every movement stabbed into his shattered spine.
He tried to stand—
Staggered like a child learning to walk.
With effort, he pulled himself from the wreckage.
Plaster dust fell from his hair, making him look like a statue carved from ash.
He looked at Cain.
The silver eyes that had been empty moments ago now burned—
Not with rage.
With pain.
---
The hall was frozen.
What had happened in three seconds alone was enough to scar every witness forever.
Cain stood unmoving, like an unshakable rock.
"Tiflos, you still don't understand the equation," he said calmly—his voice cutting like glass.
He pulled a communicator from his pocket.
Coldly ordered:
"Display cameras seven and thirteen."
---
The massive screen split into two feeds.
Camera 7:
A ruined zone.
Nour stood surrounded by small children.
Old Elias held his staff like a faithful guardian.
Camera 13:
A classroom inside the facility.
Orion sat in the front row, calm—
unaware of the storm closing in around him.
Tiflos stared at the screen.
All the cold melted from his eyes—
replaced by sorrow that sank endlessly deep.
He tried to scream.
His shattered neck strangled the sound before it was born.
---
"But in truth… yes. This is exactly what I want from you."
Cain stepped closer.
"It's not good to be just a machine that obeys."
Closer still—
that familiar blend of challenge and interest in his gaze.
"Rebellion suits you, Tiflos.
It gives your character flavor.
It builds you."
"With a rebellious personality, you can scheme, control, sacrifice…
and eventually lead—under my wing."
Cain's hand seized Tiflos's neck again, lifting him like a broken doll.
"Tiflos, there is no such thing as superior or inferior humans.
Beautiful or ugly."
His voice rolled low, like distant thunder:
"There is only the strong and the weak.
Either you are strong—who commands and rules—
or you are weak—who obeys and buries his head in the dirt."
He dropped Tiflos to the floor.
Barely breathing.
Looking down at him, Cain continued:
"Ah, Tiflos… you have things to lose.
And I won't deny it—you're strong."
"But I am stronger than you."
"You will follow my orders and remain beneath me—
until the day you become stronger than I am."
"And when that day comes—
come and fight me."
Cain smiled—the smile of a man holding every string.
"I don't enjoy bullying the weak.
I enjoy using them."
"When I no longer need you, I'll let you go.
Or if you grow stronger—
you'll leave on your own."
---
Tiflos lay on the floor, eyes closed.
But his fist pressed into the ground until the bones of his fingers turned white.
In his silence—
A new war was beginning.
Not with swords.
But with will.