Chapter 132: The Black Cube
Redhold's command chamber was silent.
Thick concrete walls. A low hum of power generators in the distance. Fluorescent lights cast a cold glow, flickering every so often as if nervous about what was happening below.
Axel sat at the center of the room, a cigarette between his lips, his knuckles still bruised from the fight in the Deadlands. Blood still dried beneath his nails. His katana leaned against the wall, but he didn't need it right now.
He had something more dangerous.
A black cube.
Roughly the size of a closed fist, matte in texture, etched with intricate circuits that pulsed faint red under the light. Old-world tech. Military-grade. Rare. And expensive. Likely one of a kind.
Michael stood nearby, arms crossed, his face unreadable. Beside him, engineers and tech operatives worked around a terminal, preparing to interface with the device.
"You found this next to the offering?" Michael asked quietly.
"Yeah," Axel said. "Carved into his chest: 'You should not have come, Son of death.'"
Michael's jaw tensed. "They know you where coming."
"They always have."
The lead engineer gave a nervous cough. "We're ready, sir. Whatever's on this… it's encrypted with something I've never seen. Could take hours to unpack."
"No," Axel muttered. "Play it raw. No filters. No firewalls."
"But that's—"
"Do it," Michael commanded.
The engineer flinched and hit the command.
The screen blinked.
Then hissed.
A video file loaded. Static buzzed, distorted audio bleeding through. Then came a figure—hooded, pale, and wearing the Ashen Circle's sigil burned into the robe's chest. The video crackled with analog distortion. It wasn't recorded recently. It was old.
But the voice was calm. Deliberate. Intimate.
"General Michael," the voice said.
Everyone froze.
"Or should I say... Father of the Aberration. We knew you'd find this, eventually. Because you've always been predictable. Because you built him."
Axel's eyes narrowed. The smoke from his cigarette curled upward in silence.
The video continued.
"You tried to bury the past. To hide the experiments. The failure. The project you were ordered to abort. But the truth, General, is that you didn't kill it. You transferred it. You gave it flesh."
Axel stood slowly. "What is this?"
Michael said nothing.
The video kept going.
"You remember Project VESSEL, don't you? A weapon with a mind. Designed to hold the rage of the old gods. A shell meant to be war incarnate. A human body... fused with wrath."
The room was dead silent.
The voice now whispered: "And you used your son for it."
Axel turned.
"What the fuck are they talking about, old man?"
Michael didn't look at him.
The screen cut to grainy footage. Axel—young. Maybe 10. Strapped to a metal table. Screaming. A red serum being pumped into his veins. Technicians watching behind glass. Michael in a lab coat. Cold. Still. Unblinking.
"No…" Axel whispered.
He stared at the screen as if it had reached through time and carved into his skull.
The video continued.
"You erased his memories. Hid the truth. Told the government the VESSEL failed. But it didn't. It lived. It grew. It became him. Every time he breaks, every time he rages—he becomes more than a man. He becomes what you created."
The screen glitched again. A diagram flashed—Axel's brain scans. Heat signatures. Rage markers. Neurological manipulation.
"His wrath is not just trauma—it's programming. His pain is not just suffering—it's ignition. You didn't raise a son, General. You engineered a bomb."
Axel stepped toward his father now, his face calm—but his eyes burned.
"You knew. All this time… you knew."
Michael's voice was quiet. "I did what I had to do."
"You used me."
"I protected you from what you are."
"You made me what I am!" Axel roared.
He slammed his fist into the steel wall, cracking it. The techs flinched. Alarms beeped from the force of the blow.
But Axel didn't move again.
He stood there, breathing heavy. His eyes locked onto his father like he wanted to carve the truth out of his chest.
The video wasn't done.
It resumed—new footage now.
Footage of The Ashen Circle.
Not masked.
Unveiled.
Men and women with hollow eyes, standing in a circle, hands clasped. Behind them—children. Dozens. Chained. Brainwashed.
The voice returned.
"We don't seek conquest. We seek awakening. The Vessel was ours, before you stole him. Before you altered him. His wrath belongs to us. It was never yours to control. It was never his to refuse."
The video cut to black.
Then one final message appeared, etched in crimson letters:
"He will come to us. Or we will tear the world apart to reclaim him."
Silence.
Cold. Crushing. Endless.
Axel didn't speak.
He sat down slowly. Picked up his cigarette again. Lit it with a shaking hand.
Michael finally said, "We tried to destroy the research. But the Ashen Circle got to it first. They want to awaken the original protocol buried in you. They want your fury to fuel their doctrine."
"And you just let it happen."
"I made the best choice I had at the time."
Axel exhaled smoke through his nose.
"You didn't give me a childhood. You gave me a cage."
Michael said nothing.
"You didn't raise a son. You fed a fucking experiment. And now the wolves are coming because they smell what you turned me into."
Axel stood.
But he didn't scream anymore.
His voice was low. Final.
"You want a weapon, old man? You've got it."
He walked out of the room, smoke trailing behind him like fog from the underworld.
And Michael?
He watched him go with a ghost of a smile.
Because for the first time in a long time…
The Weapon was awake.
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