The morning after the warehouse bloodbath hit like a hangover from hell. My body ached in places I didn't know could ache, venom burns fading to itchy scars, muscles screaming from the transformation strain. But hey, I was alive. That's what counted in this zodiac shitshow. I dragged myself out of bed before dawn again, the boarding house creaking like it was judging me. No run today; my legs felt like dead. Instead, I chugged water and stared at the pendants around my neck. Phobos and Deimos, coiled and silent, but I swear I felt their grumble. "Told you we'd make you pay for shrinking us," Deimos had muttered last night before I crashed down on my bed. Phobos just sighed, like a disappointed mom.
School was the usual grind. The bell rang, and I slumped into my seat, math equations blurring into scythe arcs and tail strikes. The teacher droned on about variables, but my brain looped yesterday's fight: the way Scorpio's regeneration mocked me, his creepy "experiment" taunt. What the hell was he brewing in that warehouse? Tar monsters? Rider dissections? My forbidden ass was probably next on the slab.
Break came, and I hit the swings again, the oak tree's acorns crunching underfoot like tiny skulls. No Lena this time, just solitude, which was fine. But Mira bounced by with her usual energy bomb, waving a half-eaten candy bar. "Rei! You look like death warmed over. Rough night?" She grinned, all teeth and zero filter.
I forced a smirk. "Yeah, I fought a shadow demon. You?"
She laughed,"Nah, just algebra demons. Hey, you hear? More weird stuff by the factories last night. Cops found burn marks, like acid rain or something." I know the battle scene wouldn't be erased like memories of the fight, but other people would still think that kind of normal right? Like they find an explanation for it. No matter,I played it cool. "Stories, right?"
Mira shrugged, ponytail whipping. "She's all 'logical escape artist' about it, but I say poltergeists with attitude. Keep your pepper spray handy!" She dashed off, leaving me rocking higher on the swing.
The afternoon blurred into escape velocity. The bell rang, I bolted home, ate some stale bread, then hauled ass to the roof. Ophy was there, as always, lounging against the chimney like a goth philosopher,
"We 're late kid, we should have started an hour ago." Deimos grumbled from the pendant while Phobos hummed an agreement.
"We talked about this guys, I need to eat something before we start," I muttered, dropping my bag. My brain was still replaying the fight, venom dreams clinging like sweat. I pulled the pendants, let them expand. They did, with a reluctant shimmer, handle warm and heavy in my palms. "Ophy.Last night... The warehouse got lively."
Ophy's eyes sharpened, serpentine pupils dilating. "Lively how? Shadows, or something with teeth?"
I recounted it: the tar abominations merging like nightmare Play-Doh, the scythe-wielding psycho in the lab coat, his transformation into Scorpio Rider. The words tumbled out, regeneration, needles, that chest stab where he pushed the blade deeper like he wanted it. Ophy listened, just standing there unmoving, but the air thickened, strings on the dummy humming like tuning forks.
"Scorpio," he said finally, "Dangerous Rider. Venom's his game, poisons the body, twists the soul. But experiments? That's off-script. The zodiac tournament's kill-or-be-killed." He tilted his head, smile coiling. "You killed him once. But Riders like him... they have another chance. Expect you of course."
Phobos vibrated. "Don't let him scare you, Rei. Channel better next time."
Deimos chuckled, dark and eager. "Tasted like victory. But yeah, kid, that tail? Aim lower. Sever the root."
Training kicked off brutal. Ophy snapped his fingers, and the dummy split into three, tar-black phantoms mimicking the abominations, claws whipping. I lunged, Phobos parrying a strike while Deimos slashed low, carving ethereal ichor that evaporated in stinks of ozone. Sweat poured, breaths ragged, I fought dirty, shrank my sword mid-dodge, then expanded for a counter-spin. The swords hated it, Deimos cursed like a sailor, but it worked. Momentum built, my swings sharper, fueled by yesterday's rage. Channel emotions, not just anger, resolve, survival. By sunset, the phantoms dissolved, and I collapsed against the chimney, chest heaving.
"You're adapting," Ophy said, tossing me a water bottle. "I know you keep thinking about your fight with him, and you want to find out about his experiment. But investigate that warehouse carefully."
I nodded, pendants cooling against my skin. "Yeah, sure."
Dusk bled into night as I biked to the warehouse district, the air thick with rust and river rot. Nate, handed over the keys with a grunt. "Quiet so far, kid. Those burn marks? Cops chalked it to vandals. Just log anything funky." He clapped my shoulder, oblivious to the venom scars itching under my shirt. "Pepper spray's in the booth. Holler if shadows get chatty."
The warehouse loomed, a concrete beast on the town's frayed edge, chain-link fence rattling in the wind. I locked the gate, flashlight beam cutting gloom, and settled into the guard shack, a small box with a flickering bulb and a radio spitting static. Midnight ticked by easy: no whispers, no slithering shapes. Just crickets and distant truck rumbles. My shift was a graveyard for a reason, dead hours, but tonight, it felt like a reprieve. Or a trap.
Around 1 a.m., boredom growed. Phobos whispered from the pendant, "Restless? Why don't we take a walk." Deimos agreed, a low rumble: "it's better sitting here."
I couldn't sit. Scorpio's "experiment" echoed, his sad eyes on the tar pits, that sacrificial rage. What if it is tied to the zodiac mess? Leftover powers, twisted into monsters? Or worse, blueprints for making something worse. The warehouse door creaked open, the hinges, protesting like a bad omen. Inside: vast, echoing dark, crates stacked like tombstones, air heavy with oil and... something sharper. Chemicals? Venom?
Flashlight swept: puddles of hardened tar from last night, black and brittle, fizzing faintly under the beam. I crouched, Phobos extended like a probe. The blade hummed, tasting residue. "Corrupted essence," Phobos murmured. "Zodiac fragments, Scorpio's, maybe others. Fused with... human greed?"
Deimos snorted. "Greed? Tastes like ambition gone sour. Let's take a look around, kid."
I walk deeper, past rusted machinery, a side door, half-hidden, padlock snapped like brittle bone. What am I doing? My heart pounding, I shouldered the door open. Behind the door is a massive staircase. The stair descended into a sublevel, cool and clammy, lit by emergency strips glowing sickly green. Lab. Full-on mad-scientist lair: steel tables scarred with burns, vials of shimmering green fluid (venom, no doubt), monitors dark but humming faint power. Papers scattered, blueprints, scribbled notes in jagged script.
I rifled through the stacks of paper "Project Stinger: Phase II, Symbiosis Protocol." Diagrams of scorpion tails merging with human spines, arrows pointing to "core infusion: Rider essence extraction." My stomach flipped. Sketches of abominations: tar bases laced with zodiac symbols, Scorpio's stinger, but hints of Cancer's claws, Sagittarius's arrowheads. "Test subjects: Urban strays. Yield: 40% viability. Forbidden variant: High potential, Ophiuchus profile pending."
Pending? That was me. My hands shook, flashlight beams jittering over a log: "Subject Alpha destroyed by interloper. Regeneration inhibited by dual blades, Phobos/Deimos anomaly. Capture priority: Integrate for hybrid evolution." Photos clipped in: blurry shots of street fights, temple break-ins. Me? No, shadows, other "visitors," the ones Lena whispered about. Zodiac leaks, hunted and harvested.
A terminal flickered alive as I brushed it, motion sensor? Screen bloomed: files, encrypted but cracking under my frantic taps. "Experiment Log: Scorpio Directive Eclipse the Forbidden. Goal: Transcend tournament. Fuse all signs into one vessel. Cost: Acceptable losses." Video thumbnail: Scorpio unmasked, pale face twisted in zeal, injecting green serum into a writhing tar mass. His voice, unfiltered: "They call us players. But I'll rewrite the board. Ophiuchus... you'll be the key."
Footsteps echoed upstairs, wind? Or echo? I killed the screen, stuffed notes into my jacket. Phobos vibrated urgently: "Company. Out."
I bolted, swords expanding mid-stride, up the stairs and into the main floor. Nothing, just wind rattling crates. False alarm. But my pulse thundered. This wasn't random; Scorpio was building an army, twisting the zodiac's scraps into something unholy. And me? Bait. Or the prize.
Dawn crept as my shift ended, Nate's truck rumbling up. I logged "all quiet," pockets heavy with stolen intel. Bike home, mind racing: Tell Ophy? Hunt Scorpio? That's dumb School loomed, but sleep? Fat chance. The pendants warmed against my chest, Phobos soft: "You're in it now, Rei. But we fight."
Yeah. We did. And whatever "Eclipse" meant, it ended with me standing. Or die trying.
My body was on autopilot, biking home through the pre-dawn gloom, but my mind was a mosh pit of scrawled blueprints and Scorpio's face on a video screen. The stolen papers in my jacket felt like a lead weight, heavy with secrets that could get me killed. Project Stinger. Symbiosis Protocol. Ophiuchus profile pending. Every word was a kick to the gut. This wasn't just a tournament; it was a goddamn experiment, and I was the lab rat they were trying to catch.
I dragged myself into the boarding house, the front door groaning like a tired old man. I bypassed my room, heading straight to the kitchen. My hands shook as I stuffed a few slices of bread into the toaster, the silence of the empty house amplifying the frantic beat of my heart. The pendants hung cold against my skin, but I could feel them listening.
"We told you to be careful," Phobos whispered, a note of worry in his voice. "This is big, Rei. Bigger than we thought."
"It's about time you listened to us, kid," Deimos grumbled. "That psycho wasn't just fighting for fun. He's building an army."
I didn't answer. I just stared at the toast as it popped up, a charred, burnt mess. It was a perfect metaphor for my life right now. The toast was ruined, and so was my chance at a normal existence.
I finally made it to my room and collapsed onto the bed, the papers spread out on the floor like a twisted puzzle. I needed to see Ophy, but not here. Not now. I had a few hours until school. I had to make a decision: do I tell him everything? Or do I try to figure it out on my own?
The idea of tackling this alone was stupid, I knew that. But the thought of handing over this information, of telling Ophy that I'd basically walked into a trap, made my stomach churn. What if he thought I was reckless? What if this put him in danger? The man had already put so much on the line for me.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand. A new message. It was from an unknown number. "Enjoy the blueprints. You're holding the key to a new world. Meet me at the old clock tower at midnight. Come alone. Don't tell your 'mentor'.
My blood ran cold. He knew. Scorpio knew I had the documents. He was watching me. The message was a trap, a lure. He wasn't just after the papers; he was after me.
Phobos vibrated against my chest. "It's a trap, Rei. Don't go."
Deimos's voice was a low growl. "He's underestimating us. This is our chance to finish him. We'll take him down, and we'll have our answers."
I stared at the message, the words burning into my mind. The clock tower. Midnight. My mind raced, but the decision was already made. I had to go. I had to find out what he was planning. I had to stop him. This wasn't just about me anymore. This was about everyone else he planned to turn into a monster.
I deleted the message. I wasn't telling Ophy. This was my fight. And I'd be damned if I let some creepy psycho use me to build an army of monsters.