[Day 1 - Training]
Shadow-step Again.
Raven pulled darkness around himself, felt reality bend, displaced three meters right. Emerged stumbling but upright.
"Better," Roger observed from across the factory floor. "But you're still thinking about it. Shadow manipulation should be instinct. Like breathing."
"Easy for you to say. You've had fifteen years."
"And you have three days." Roger's cursed spirit manifested—serpentine form coiling around him. "Again. This time, I attack mid-transition. Prove you can adapt."
Raven centered himself. Felt the shadows. Pulled—
Reality warped. He stepped through darkness—
Roger's spirit struck. Fangs aimed for where Raven would emerge.
But Raven felt it. Sensed the attack through shadow-connection. Adjusted trajectory mid-step. Emerged two meters further than intended.
The spirit's fangs snapped at empty air.
"Good!" Roger actually smiled. "You're learning to sense through shadows. That's advanced technique."
Raven flexed his shoulder. Still reduced mobility. But adapting. Compensating with shadow-step instead of dodging.
Azaelith manifested nearby, watching. "He's growing fast. Desperation accelerates learning."
"Desperation and emptiness," Roger corrected. "No fear clouding judgment. No hesitation. Pure adaptation." He approached Raven. "How's the knee?"
"Functional. Seventy percent."
"Shoulder?"
"Sixty. Won't recover more."
"Then we adjust tactics. You're not a brawler anymore. You're an assassin. Strike from shadows. Vanish before counterattack." Roger demonstrated—his own shadow manipulation far smoother, pulling darkness like water. "Facility Omega has blind spots. Corners where surveillance fails. We exploit those."
"Show me the layout," Raven said.
Roger pulled out hand-drawn blueprints. Stolen. Memorized. Detailed.
"Main campus: five buildings. Central admin. Two research wings. Security barracks. Containment block." He pointed. "Prisoners are here—thirty contractors in various stages of experimentation. Staff is twenty total. Guards, scientists, administrators."
"Tamers?"
"Minimum three Tier-3 at any time. Possibly more." Roger's expression darkened. "And Sam."
"Who's Sam?"
"Tier-4. Combat specialist. Curse-type contracted spirit—similar to mine but more offensive." Roger's jaw clenched. "He was my student. Fifteen years ago. I trained him. Molded him. He was good. Best I ever taught."
"What happened?"
"I defected. He stayed loyal. Drank the Organization's ideology completely." Roger met Raven's eyes. "He'll be the hardest to kill. Because he knows how I fight. Knows my techniques. Trained under me for five years."
"Weaknesses?"
"Pride. True believer mentality. He thinks the Organization is righteous. That makes him predictable." Roger traced a route on the blueprint. "But he's skilled. Tier-4 for a reason. We avoid him if possible. If not—we hit him together. No honor. No fair fight. Just kill him fast."
Raven nodded. Studying the blueprints. Memorizing.
"Defenses?" he asked.
"Standard surveillance. Spirit barriers at perimeter. Guard rotations every four hours." Roger paused. "But there might be more. ARD is paranoid. Hidden defenses are their specialty."
"Expect the worst."
"Always."
[Day 2 - Intelligence Gathering]
Roger had contacts. Not many. But enough.
A former janitor at Facility Omega. Paid him for details about recent changes. New security measures. Staff rotations.
"Automated turrets," the man said nervously, taking Roger's money. "Installed three months ago. Top of every building. Motion-tracking. Holy energy rounds."
"Shit," Roger muttered. "That's new."
"And something else. Sub-level three. They moved it there last week. Some kind of... experiment. Failed possession contractor. They're using him as a guard dog."
Raven leaned forward. "Explain."
"Kid completely lost control. Spirit consumed him. Now he's... neither. Just a thing. Attacks anything that moves. They keep him in sub-level as extra security."
"How strong?" Roger asked.
"Don't know. But I saw him tear through a reinforced door like paper."
Great. Weaponized failure.
After the janitor left, Roger updated their intelligence.
"Automated turrets complicate entry. We can't just shadow-step in—motion sensors will trigger them."
"Can we disable them?" Raven asked.
"Maybe. If we access central security. But that's in the admin building. Heart of the campus." Roger traced the route. "We'd need to infiltrate, disable turrets, then proceed with main objectives."
"Adds time. Increases detection risk."
"Yes. But going in blind with active turrets is suicide."
Raven considered. "What about the containment field you mentioned?"
"Rumor only. Can't confirm." Roger frowned. "But if they have shadow-suppression tech, our primary escape route is cut off."
"Then we need contingencies. Multiple exit strategies."
They spent hours planning. Route A. Route B. Route C. Backup upon backup. Every scenario mapped.
Because one mistake meant death.
[Day 2 - Evening]
The intrusion came unexpected.
Raven sensed it first—spiritual sight activating automatically. Energy signature approaching. Fast. Panicked.
"Company," he warned.
Roger's cursed spirit manifested instantly. Both took defensive positions.
The factory door burst open. A young man stumbled through—early twenties, disheveled, bleeding from shoulder wound. Wild eyes. Desperate.
Possession contractor. Raven could see the spirit coiled inside him—hostile, barely contained, fighting for control.
"Please—" the man gasped. "They're hunting me. I need—"
He collapsed.
Roger and Raven exchanged glances.
"Trap?" Raven asked.
"Maybe. Or genuine." Roger approached cautiously. "Check him."
Raven extended his senses. The possession was real. Tier-3 power. The spirit was aggressive—probably forced contract. And the man's spiritual signature was erratic. Injured. Exhausted.
But underneath—
Another signature. Distant. Multiple. Approaching.
"He's being tracked," Raven said flatly. "Led them here."
"Fuck." Roger grabbed the unconscious man, dragged him aside. "How many?"
"Four. Maybe five. Tamers. Tier-2 and Tier-3 range."
"Can we relocate?"
Raven calculated. "Not fast enough. They'll catch us in transit. Better to fight. Eliminate them. Move after."
Roger nodded. "Agreed. Defensive positions. Kill them quiet if possible."
They prepared. Shadows pulled close. Cursed spirit coiling. Demon Flame ready.
Azaelith manifested solid. "This is bad timing."
"All timing is bad," Raven replied.
The Tamers arrived. Four of them. Tactical gear. Contracted spirits manifested—guardian types, combat-focused.
The lead Tamer scanned the factory with spiritual sight. Locked onto Raven immediately.
"Raven Altair," he said. Not surprised. Not afraid. Just... focused. "You're under arrest for—"
Raven shadow-stepped behind him. Demon Flame ignited. Grabbed the Tamer's head. Burned.
The man screamed. Brief. Cut off as brain boiled.
The other three reacted—summoned spirits attacking.
Roger's cursed spirit intercepted. Serpentine body wrapped around two spirits, venom dissolving spiritual matter.
Raven engaged the third. Shadow-stepped through its guardian barrier. Appeared inside its defense. Flame-coated fist into the Tamer's chest. Ribs shattered. Heart stopped.
Efficient. Empty. Optimal.
Two Tamers down in fifteen seconds.
The remaining two retreated, calling for backup.
"Can't let them report," Roger said.
"Agreed."
They hunted them through the factory. Shadows and curse-venom. No mercy. No hesitation.
Both Tamers dead within two minutes.
Silence returned.
Roger checked the unconscious contractor. "He's stable. Possession is contained. Barely."
"Do we keep him?" Raven asked.
"He led Tamers here. Compromised our position."
"But he's Tier-3. Could be useful."
Roger considered. "Fine. We wake him. Interrogate. If he's genuine—recruit him. If he's a plant—kill him."
They waited for the man to regain consciousness. Thirty minutes. Then—
He jerked awake. Eyes wild. Saw them. Flinched.
"Who are you?" Raven asked. Voice flat.
"Sion. My name is Sion. I'm—I'm a possession contractor. Tier-3. I've been running for two weeks." Words tumbled out. "I didn't mean to lead them here. I swear. I was just trying to find help. I heard rumors—illegal contractors gathering. Resistance forming. I wanted to join."
"How did you find us?" Roger asked.
"Street sources. Whispers. I followed energy signatures. Found this place. I didn't know about the Tamers until—" He stopped. Fear in his eyes. "Please. I'm not a spy. I just need protection. Alliance. Somewhere to belong."
Roger looked at Raven. Silent communication.
Raven studied Sion with spiritual sight. The desperation was genuine. The possession was real. But—
"You're reckless," Raven stated. "Led Tamers directly to us. Compromised our position. Cost us operational security."
"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't—"
"But you're Tier-3. Possession-type. That's useful." Raven's red eyes bored into him. "One chance. You work with us. Follow orders. No improvisation. No heroics. Understood?"
Sion nodded frantically. "Yes. Anything. I'll do anything."
"Good." Roger stood. "Then help us pack. We're relocating. Now. Before reinforcements arrive."
[Day 3 - New Location]
They moved to a different hideout. Deeper industrial district. More isolated.
Sion proved useful. Strong. Tier-3 meant his possessed spirit could fight independently. Extra firepower.
But reckless. Impulsive. Exactly as Raven assessed.
"He's a liability," Roger said privately while Sion slept. "Led danger directly to us."
"But loyal. Desperate. Those types fight hardest." Raven checked his gear. "We use him tomorrow. Point him at targets. Let him rampage."
"Suicide tactics."
"He's already suicidal. Possession contractors rarely last long. We just direct it productively."
Roger nodded. Empty logic. Efficient.
"Equipment?" Raven asked.
"Procured. Explosives. Flash-bangs. Smoke grenades. Enough to level the facility." Roger laid out gear. "We hit them at dawn. Shift change. Security thinnest. We infiltrate. Disable turrets. Free prisoners. Burn everything."
"And Sam?"
"I handle Sam. Personal business." Roger's expression was void. "You focus on primary objectives. Sion covers our exit."
"Complications?" Raven pressed.
"Vanessa might send reinforcements. Response time—thirty minutes minimum from main headquarters. We have that window." Roger met his eyes. "But if there's unexpected defenses—containment fields, weaponized experiments, whatever—we adapt or die."
"Acceptable odds?"
"Terrible. But necessary."
Raven looked at the blueprints one final time. Memorized every room. Every corridor. Every exit.
Tomorrow, they'd attack the heart of ARD. Make the Organization bleed. Show illegal contractors could fight back.
Tomorrow, they'd start the war properly.
"Ready?" Roger asked.
Raven checked his abilities. Shadow-step functional. Demon Flame ready. Charm available. Enhanced physicals despite injuries.
Empty of fear. Empty of hesitation. Empty of everything except purpose.
"Ready," he confirmed.
Azaelith manifested beside him. "This is the point of no return. After tomorrow, every Tamer will hunt you. Every facility will know your face. You'll be enemy number one."
"Good," Raven said simply. "Let them fear us."
"They'll call you terrorist. Monster. Demon."
"They're not wrong."
She smiled. Proud. Possessive. "Then let's give them a reason to be right."
Outside, the city slept. Unaware. Ignorant.
Inside, three monsters prepared for violence.
Dawn was six hours away.
And with it—war.