The boarding house room snapped into focus like a glitchy interface resetting, the dim gray light of dawn seeping through the cracked blinds in thin, reluctant slivers. My eyelids fluttered open, heavy as rusted gates, and for a heartbeat, I lay there, suspended in the haze between dream and waking. The mattress sagged beneath me, its familiar indent cradling my body like an unwilling accomplice, the sheets twisted around my legs in a sweaty coil that mimicked the venom's grip. Sweat beaded on my forehead, cool and clammy, tracing paths down my temples, and I could still feel the phantom thrum of the mend in my veins, pride fallen, storm tamed, fracture mended, like echoes of battles that had left their scars etched into my soul. But something was off, a dissonant note in the post-raid fog, sharper than the ache in my muscles or the faint metallic tang on my tongue.
I pushed up on one elbow, the motion pulling a low groan from the floorboards, and rubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand. The pendants lay cold against my chest, not the warm anchors they'd been in the dream, but inert weights, silent and unyielding. Phobos and Deimos, where was their hum? Their voices, usually threading through my mind like dual serpents, one cautioning, the other urging, felt muted, distant, as if muffled behind a veil of static. No Star Fragments pulsed in my pocket; my jeans, crumpled on the floor where I'd tossed them last night after the warehouse shift, held only lint and a crumpled candy wrapper from Mira's bag. Mira's bag? The thought snagged, pulling at the edges of the illusion. The warehouse hangout with the twins, the glow sticks weaving a neon nest, the shared ghosts over the Ouija board, that had felt real, the laughter rusty but grounding. But then the raids: Virgo's core shattering in vines and regen glow, Aquarius's maelstrom tamed in swirling floods, Leo's pride broken in a roar of gold dust, Libra's scales tipping in verdict storms. Allies mending fractures, gratitude blooming in the hollow Andi had left. Had it all been...?
A chill slithered up my spine, not from the morning draft whispering through the window cracks, but from deeper, a familiar cold that coiled in my gut like the venom's residue. The whisper. It stirred then, faint at first, a radio static hum bleeding into clarity: "Embrace it, Rei. The mend's gift, full and unbroken. Allies wait, power surges. Unite the coil." The words twisted in my mind, seductive and insistent, pulling at the raw edges of isolation I'd armored with doubt. I swung my legs over the bed's edge, feet hitting the cold linoleum with a slap that grounded me, and staggered to the mirror on the wall, its surface fogged with overnight breath. Wiping it clear with my sleeve revealed my reflection: eyes red-rimmed, not from upgrades or post-fight haze, but from whatever toxin had seeped through my dreams. No scorpion tail enhancements, no venom heals for allies or wounds for foes. Just me, hollowed and human, the forbidden Rider staring back with a vulnerability that scared me more than any council ward.
Phobos's voice finally pierced the veil, cool and threading like a cautionary wire: "Illusion, Rei. The venom's sip, poisoning the mind to claim the soul. Resist." Deimos rumbled low in counterpoint, rough and edged: "Fight it, kid. Coil's tempting the full bite, don't swallow." I gripped the sink's edge, knuckles whitening, as fragments of the dream replayed in vivid loops: Mira's laugh cutting through rain-slick alleys, Lena's steady gaze anchoring me mid-whisper tug, their duality mirroring my split swords in raids that felt triumphant, bonds forging in the gods' indifferent grind. Gratitude had swelled, warm and terrifying, easing Andi's erasure like a balm. But now, in the stark light of waking, it unraveled, a venom-crafted lure, weaving trust where solitude had reigned, tempting me to lower guards and embrace the corruption Jay's project had seeded. The Scorpio echo, that blood-moon specter I'd purged at the observatory, hadn't died clean; its whisper lingered, using dreams to erode my will, making the full venom seem like salvation, not surrender.
Ophy's mist coalesced in the corner, greenish vapor swirling against the peeling wallpaper, his serpentine form solidifying with a faint ozone bite that cleared the mental fog like a storm's prelude. He lounged there, tail coiling lazy around the bedpost, emerald eyes glinting with that mix of concern and challenge. "Rei," he hissed, the word drawn out like smoke laced with warning. "The venom's deception, a dream-weave to bind you willing. It sips into the fractures, grief for Andi, doubt in alliances, twisting them into hooks. Full power? It would eclipse you, turn the coil inward until you're no more than its vessel. Purge it now, before the sip becomes a flood."
I nodded slow, the motion pulling at the knot in my chest, grief twisting sharper amid the betrayal. The dream had felt so real: Mira's elbow bump in the pump house, Lena's hand brushing mine in the arena wing, their shared ghosts fogging parents like half-erased memories. "Family glitch," Mira had said, her cheer cracking to vulnerability; "Mend together or break," Lena had echoed, steady as a dagger's edge. But it was venom's venom, poisoning the isolation to make unity seem inevitable, the full surge of power a gift rather than a curse. Doubt coiled tighter, what if resisting left me alone against the thrones? What if the gods' game demanded the corruption to shatter it? The whisper amplified, a crimson flicker in my peripheral: "They wait, Rei. Mira's spark, Lena's precision, claim the mend, unite the squad. Full venom heals all."
No. I shook my head, staggering back to the bed, hands pressing the pendants to my chest until their warmth stirred faint, pushing back the cold. Channeling the emotions like in training, frustration into Phobos's precision, rage into Deimos's aggression, I focused on the real: Andi's laugh erased in supermarket shatter, Jay's scythe cracking under my swords, the warehouse's actual quiet after the tar-beast fight. No twins had come with glow sticks and Ouija dares; that shift had ended in boredom, not bonding. The raids? Fabrications, venom's vivid poison seeping through sleep to erode my resistance, making the forbidden power seem like the only path to rebellion.
The purge built slow, a internal coil tightening until it snapped, venom's dream-threads unraveling in a rush of nausea that had me doubled over, dry-heaving into the sink. Sweat poured, but clarity followed, the whisper dulling to static once more. Ophy's form steadied me, his tail wrapping loose around my ankle like an anchor. "Well fought, serpent-bearer. The sip retreats, but the venom hungers. Guard the mind, next time, it may flood."
I straightened, breath ragged, the room's stale air grounding me further. The dream's warmth lingered like a ghost, tempting still, but I armored it with doubt. Allies? Maybe real ones waited, but not in venom's weave. The pendants hummed approval, Phobos cool: "Balance restored, for now." Deimos rough: "Good purge, kid. Now hunt the real fracture." Outside, city stirred with distant horns and rain-scent, the city indifferent to my internal storm. New Quest Pending flickered in my mind: True Mend. Vague, but real this time. I grabbed my hoodie, the fabric rough and unyielding, and stepped out, the door creaking shut on the dream's remnants. The venom had sipped, but I wouldn't swallow. Not yet.
The dawn light clawed its way through the boarding house window like a reluctant intruder, casting long shadows across the peeling wallpaper that danced with the faint stir of a breeze sneaking under the sash. I stood there for a moment after shutting the door, the cool air nipping at my skin through the hoodie, carrying the distant rumble of city waking up, horns blaring like impatient gods, the low hum of buses groaning to life, the metallic tang of rain still lingering from last night's purge. My breath came steady now, the nausea faded to a dull echo in my gut, but the dream's poison left its mark: a subtle chill in my veins, a whisper's ghost tempting me to lower my guard. No more. The venom had sipped once, weaving illusions of allies to erode my will, but I wouldn't let it flood. Strength wasn't just in the swords or the coil, it was in the mind, armored against the fractures where grief and doubt let the corruption seep in. Morning training. Ophy's words from the purge echoed: "Guard the mind, next time, it may flood." Time to forge that guard.
I pedaled hard toward the outskirts, the bike chain clicking in rhythm with my pulse, the pendants warming faintly against my chest as if sensing the resolve. Phobos hummed cool in my mind: "Discipline, Rei. Channel the caution into focus, build walls the whisper can't breach." Deimos rumbled rough counterpoint: "Aggression fuels the forge, kid. Strike the weakness, make the mind a blade." The industrial district gave way to the abandoned lots near the river, concrete skeletons overgrown with weeds, the perfect spot for unchecked exertion, away from prying eyes, where the city's noise dulled to a background murmur. I ditched the bike against a rusted chain-link fence, the metal cool under my palms, and scanned the area: cracked pavement stretching like a scarred arena, overgrown with thistles that whispered in the wind, the river's sluggish flow beyond carrying the faint ozone bite of last night's storm.
Ophy's mist coalesced beside me as I stretched, greenish vapor swirling from the damp ground, his serpentine form solidifying with that familiar ozone snap. He lounged against a crumbling wall, tail coiling lazy around a weed stalk, emerald eyes glinting with appraisal. "Training the vessel, serpent-bearer? Wise. The venom's sip tested your core, now temper it like steel. Emotions channel power, but unchecked, they crack the armor. Start with balance: precision and rage in harmony."
I nodded, rolling my shoulders to loosen the post-purge stiffness, the air crisp enough to bite but invigorating, chasing away the boarding house's stale regret. No henshin yet, save the transformation for peaks; build the base raw. I started with basics, dropping into push-ups on the uneven concrete, the grit biting into my palms like a reminder of fragility. One, two, feel the burn in the arms, the coil in the core. Phobos guided: "Steady breaths, Rei. Visualize the walls, each rep a brick against the dream's lure." Deimos pushed: "Harder, faster. Rage at the illusion, turn it to fuel." By fifty, sweat beaded on my brow, mixing with the morning mist, my mind flashing to Andi's erasure, the supermarket shatter that had hollowed me. Use it. Channel the grief into strength, not vulnerability. No more dreams sipping through that fracture.
Transitioning to sprints, I exploded across the lot, feet pounding the pavement in bursts that echoed like thunderclaps, weeds whipping at my calves. The river's edge loomed, its murky water a mirror for my resolve, don't let it reflect weakness. Ophy watched, hissing corrections: "Faster on the turn, Rei. The gods' game demands agility, mind and body as one." I pivoted sharp, lungs burning, the pendants thumping against my chest like dual heartbeats. Phobos: "Anticipate the poison's next angle, caution hones the edge." Deimos: "Strike first, kid. Imagine the whisper as a foe, slash it down." Each lap built the barrier, sweat pouring like purged toxin, the chill in my veins warming to a controlled fire. No alliances in dreams could match this: real power, forged alone, to shield against the next sip.
Breath ragged, I moved to shadowboxing, fists slicing the air in precise arcs, channeling Phobos's caution into feints and dodges, Deimos's aggression into hooks that whistled with intent. Ophy circled, his tail flicking encouragement: "Incorporate the coil, feel the venom's residue, but command it. Amplify without surrender." I focused inward, drawing on the lingering static from the dream, twisting it into extensions: imaginary whips from my strikes, venom-laced jabs that hummed with potential. The pendants glowed faint, responding, but I reined them, no full surge yet. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging like a warning, but clarity sharpened: Andi's ghost fueled the drive, not the doubt. Stronger mind, unbreakable will. No power would poison it again.
As the sun climbed higher, casting golden slants through the mist, I incorporated sword forms without drawing the blades, pendants as proxies, hands mimicking Phobos's precise thrusts, Deimos's sweeping cleaves. Ophy demonstrated, his mist forming ethereal serpents that danced the patterns: "Balance the duality, Rei. Caution guards, aggression strikes, together, they fortify the soul." I mirrored, muscles protesting but yielding, the routine etching deeper into my core. A final set of meditations by the river: cross-legged on the damp bank, eyes closed, breathing deep to visualize the walls, brick by brick, emotion-forged, sealing fractures where illusions had seeped. Phobos: "Secure." Deimos: "Unbreakable."
By mid-morning, exhausted but empowered, I stood, the chill gone, replaced by a steady warmth. The new quest flickered: True Mend. Vague, but now I was ready. No dream could sip through this armor. I grabbed the bike, pedaling back toward the city, the wind carrying my resolve like a promise. Stronger. Unpoisonable. The gods' game waited, but so did I.