PASTEL: AETHONIX UNIT
"Pick up the pace, we don't have much time," Lyra'kaidos's copy urged, leading them into a low-ceilinged underground cave. Her voice echoed eerily, bouncing off the damp stone.
Vynesia froze at the low growl. Her companions continued ahead a few steps before they realized she'd stopped. She swept her torch toward the noise, the flickering light revealing nothing but shadows that looked like they were watching back.
Concern pinched Aethonix's brows. "Vynesia? You good?"
"Yeah," she said quickly, rejoining the group. "Just thought I heard something." Her tone was too casual.
Lyra'kaidos-B raised a hand. Everyone fell silent as she crept toward a jagged rock ledge. "Kry... where are you?" she muttered, more to herself than them.
Lyrikka scanned the walls, grip tightening on her spear. "Scratches. Scattered bones. This is a den."
Vynesia's torchlight gleamed in her glasses. She nodded slowly. "That growl earlier—definitely makes sense now."
Lyra'kaidos-B didn't flinch. "Of course it's a den. I assumed you knew." She drew her daggers with fluid ease and gestured toward a dark hole ahead. "If it's big, crawling gives us a chance. If it's small... pray it's not fast."
"That's comforting," Aethonix muttered.
Without another word, Lyra'kaidos-B slipped into the hole like a shadow.
"Vynesia and I will follow—light up the path," Jaxonix said.
The group followed in a tense hush. The tunnel was claustrophobic, barely wide enough for a person. The walls scraped at them, snagging sleeves and skin.
Jaraelia, last in line, hissed under her breath, "Would've been genius if the second torch was behind me." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't like this."
"Quiet," came Lyra'kaidos-B's voice from ahead. "Pass me the torch."
Vynesia crawled forward and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed.
Vynesia jerked back like she'd touched a corpse. The cold was unnatural. Ancient. Wrong.
She tried to laugh it off. "It's stress. I'm just stressed."
But Lyra'kaidos-B's eyes flicked to her—and she smiled. Just a little too long.
Holding the torch aloft, Lyra'kaidos-B led them deeper, but instead of banishing the dark, the flame seemed to bend away from her, leaving long, claw-like shadows that clung to the walls.
No one else noticed. Or maybe they did—and chose not to.
Up ahead, the glow came again. Rhythmic. Like a heartbeat. But cold. Calculated.
"Something's wrong," Vynesia whispered. "That light isn't—"
"Shh," Lyra'kaidos-B hissed without turning. "You'll ruin the surprise."
A beat.
"...What surprise?" Aethonix asked, already regretting it.
No answer.
The light pulsed faster.
And then—the walls exhaled.
****
DARK: THALIAH'S UNIT
It was cold. Too cold. Everything with life in the area seemed to be absent—except Thaliah lying on the concrete floor.
A groan escaped Thaliah's lips as her eyes cracked open. Darkness. Pure, suffocating black. Not a sliver of light pierced the freezing space.
Her body was numb, cold, and slick with blood—she could've been mistaken for a corpse.
"Ow," she whispered, attempting to move. Nothing. Her limbs were stone. "Where... am I?" Her voice was as weak as her body.
"Calanthia... Lyrix..." She tried again, breath short. "Why can't I move...? Am I... dead?"
Her words grew louder as panic set in, but her vision dimmed further.
"I can't... feel my arms... I... can't..."
"You will die if you keep forcing your body to respond," a voice echoed, slicing through the still air like ice.
Thaliah's eyes flicked open in desperation, darting around the void. "W-who said that?" she asked, fear quickening her breath. Her fingers twitched, her toes curled slightly — but she remained rooted, paralyzed.
Then — CLANG.
A metallic crash shattered the silence. Hanging above her was a figure — Lyrix. Lifeless. Dangling. Malnourished and pale.
She let out a sharp scream, frozen as her gaze locked on the corpse.
His eyes… gone. Just gaping sockets.
"Lyrix?!"
Her breath hitched, spiraling into panic.
A beam of light illuminated where she laid flat. Her vision was a bit blurry but clear enough to see why she was paralyzed.
Her joints were impaled by black rods. Spears. It was almost like they were afraid to capture light, leaving no reflection on them. Her caramel skin was darker as if she took a bath in black ink.
A mysterious tall figure emergered from the darkness, giggling under its dark cloak. "Did I startle you?"
"Who the hell are you?! What did you do to Lyrix?!" She barked, her voice leaving distant echoes. "Where's Calanthia?!"
Extending its hands, the entity was met by two approaching dark figures. They moved with a Ninja's silent grace, their forms lean beneath what appeared to be a second skin of fitted black armour. Yet, this seemingly flexible material offered the intricate design, padded layers, and robust hardness reminiscent of a knight's defenses. No faces were visible, only the smooth, unbroken black.
Thaliah's frown deepened. Her gaze went from top to bottom, observing both figures with one having the body of a female and the other a male. She looked up immediately and the dangling Lyrix had vanished.
"I did that to scare you. Don't worry, your friends are safe. I simply rebirth them into something better than what they were before. You're quiet but dangerous... Just like a lunakhrai." He placed his hand on her stomach while she grit her teeth.
"Keep your wretched hands off me you–" she screamed; his sharp unusually long claws sunk into her stomach. Her blood slowly went from red to pitch black, and her agonizing screams were silenced by a black mask covering her face completely.
Her quiet demeanor and imposing armor mirrored her squad's as they stood before the entity. Then, in a single, fluid movement, they all knelt, bowing in unison. Then suddenly, they shimmered and contorted, their forms expanding and darkening until three black Lunakhrai stood where the squad members had been. Each creature resembled a massive wolf, roughly the size of an average human, with an unnerving lack of irises in their eyes. Their long, ghostly fur flowed as if in a nonexistent breeze, and none possessed a tail. Thick manes of fur, reminiscent of teenage lions, encircled their necks. Their movements were now calculated and feline as they surveyed their surroundings, a deep, resonant rumble emanating from each of their chests, much like the intimidating growl of a bear.
"Move! Wouldn't want to bore the Pastel unit," he drawled, a humorless chuckle bubbling up. A chorus of menacing growls erupted as the animals tore off, a blur of motion.
"Checkmate."