Axel gasped, eyes flaring open.
His whole body jerked up before a sharp, flaring pain from his side forced him back.
He sank back into the embrace of the mattress, breath ragged, every heartbeat echoing in his ribs.
The nightmare again, He shook his head, it hadn't even been up to a day.
Axel sighed and turned, his eyes finally scanning the dim room. The faint, bluish light from a screen flickered against pale walls.
A small TV across the bed played Tom and Jerry, the sound low, laugh tracks muffled under the rhythmic buzz of an air vent.
He was lying on a bed, with blue sheets. Bandages wrapped his left hand and torso, tight enough that he could feel his pulse beneath them. The faint smell of antiseptic stung his nose, mixed with the faint tang of metal.
Where… am I?
His gaze darted to the right. A chair, sunken sofa, the seat still dented as if someone had just left it. A book on the armrest.
And finally the katana, leaning against the chair.
A flicker of unease crawled up Axel's spine.
He tried to push himself up again. Pain surged instantly, crawling from his ribs, acting as a reminder of what happened.
The black-haired man, the stickmen, the white-haired man, the chains, His pulse spiked, the chains.
Did I get kidnapped?
He tried moving again, slower this time, wincing.
"You should rest," a calm voice came from the corridor.
Axel froze and gulped hard.
A figure stepped from the shadow. A man of average build, maybe five-eight, lean but balanced, every movement measured and precise. His white hair caught the TV's light, silver gleaming across the strands.
There was something unsettling about him, his composure was too steady, too deliberate, like he had everything under control. His eyes were too still and sunken, with that calculative glint.
In conclusion, his face lacked any hint of emotion. But Axel recognized him anyway.
His gaze flickered to the man's wrist, scanning for those chains.
But only a small silver bracelet hung from his right wrist, faintly glinting.
Ignoring the man's warning, Axel tried to move anyway, to sit up.
But his arms gave out, his body sinking into the soft foam of the bed.
"Tch," he hissed, jaw clenched. Still, his eyes never left the man.
He could've killed me anytime, he thought. If he wanted me dead, I'd be gone.
Still… he kept his guard up, though he knew he couldn't really do much, not in this situation.
The man walked to the sofa, each step measured and controlled.
Sitting down, he crossed one leg over the other.
"You're hurt pretty bad," he started.
"A few of your ribs are broken. I'd advise against moving too much, you might puncture a lung."
His tone was so casual, yet controlled, it almost sounded like a lecture.
Axel swallowed. "If it's that bad, why not take me to a hospital?"
"They'd ask too many questions," the man replied.
Axel stared at him, ask too many questions, suspicion rising.
Although It'll be pretty hard to explain what happened to him, 'stickmen ganged upon him?" of course that'll sound ridiculous.
He looked toward the ceiling fan spinning slowly above.
Even he knew how bad and suspicious that sounded, he was hoping that was the only reason.
But still— "I need proper health care."
"I've arranged for that," the man said, glancing at his wristwatch.
"Right," Axel muttered. "Well, hurry." His eyes drifted to the katana again.
The man noticed. "You don't know what that is, do you?" he asked quietly.
Axel's gaze lingered. "Oh, it's not just an anime prop?" he said, feigning surprise.
The man's lips curved slightly, something between a smirk and a sigh. He was about to speak when Axel cut in, "Wait…who are you?"
Silence stretched. The man's eyes narrowed for a second, the action disappearing within a second.
Then, finally, "I'm Serif," he said. "That's all you need to know."
Axel frowned. Serif? What kind of name is that, like the font? Suspicious as hell.
He opened his mouth to push further, but Serif beat him to it.
"It's an anima, The keeper."
Anima, that word again.
"What's an anima?" he asked.
Serif leaned back, expression unreadable. "Anima are weapons… no, things crafted from a Zvezdan ore. It grants abilities to those compatible with it."
Axel blinked, His skepticism wavered, he wanted to reject that idea, but what he had experienced in the past day…
unreal.
But only an extraordinary explanation like that could give sense to everything.
"What's Zvezdan?" he asked, moving on.
"A metal," Serif said simply.
Axel frowned. "If something like that existed, why isn't it all over the news?"
Serif's eyes shifted to him, steady, cold, he leaned back, "Because anima users control the world, of course."
For a second, the room seemed to tilt.
The air felt heavier. The hum of the vent louder.
"Control… the world?" Axel repeated, voice low, contemplating what those words implied. "Like, governments? Military?"
Serif gave a small, almost dismissive shrug. "Not in the way you think. They regulate it. Protect it from itself. And…" he stopped.
"And what?" Axel pressed.
"Nothing. For now, you can only ask about anima."
"How about 'regulate it,' then?" Axel asked, but Serif had already picked up his book again, flipping through the pages as if the conversation was over.
Axel stared at him, jaw tight. His initial wariness had faded, replaced with something else.
Curiosity, unease. The kind that burrows under your skin.
So frustrating, and it doesn't help that he's hiding something. At least he's talking about the so-called anima.
"So, do anima give powers, or are they the powers, or are the powers what you call anima?" Axel asked, half-aware it sounded dumb.
"Like, what exactly are they?"
Serif lowered the book. "Both. They can grant abilities directly or channel them through themselves. They could be conduits, extensions of the user and his ability."
Axel stared at him with a blank face, one brow raised.
Serif cleared his throat and said, "Take a hammer anima that grants strength. Its user might retain that strength even without the hammer, doing things no human could."
Axel nodded slowly. "So it gives him strength, without it being dependent on the hammer."
"Exactly." Serif gestured toward his wrist.
"Zoran, the man you fought, is an example. Mine," he lifted his hand the chain bracelet shifting, "does both. It can act as a conduit, but I don't necessarily require it to use its ability, although it also grants the ability to control the chains itself."
Then Serif calmly stood up, turned toward the wall, and drew back his fist.
"Also," he said, "anima grants every user enhanced physical capability."
He struck.
The impact thundered through the room.
A hole tore through the plaster, revealing the bathroom tiles beyond. Dust trickled down the edges.
Axel stared, wide-eyed at the broken wall.
"This isn't a hotel, is it?"
"It is," Serif said flatly. Then his eyes widened. He coughed awkwardly, looking away as if the hole didn't exist, sitting back down.
Show off, Axel exhaled, gaze drifting back to the katana.
He's hiding a lot. But at least I'm not blind now, just lost in the dark.
Still… how the hell did that thing end up with me?
"If anima are that secret," Axel asked, "how did one end up on Omnicart?"
Serif paused. Lowered the book again. His tone was calm, but softer…almost thoughtful.
"As I said… it's one of a kind." He met Axel's eyes.
"You were just one of its stops. In other words, it chose you."