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Chapter 37: The Belt, The Councilor and The Fifth Level

  The elevator doors hissed open, revealing a dim, narrow corridor cloaked in sterile light. A low hum pulsed through the metal walls, like the breath of something ancient and mechanical. Michiel stepped out slowly, the soles of his boots muffled against the smooth floor.

  Cold.

  The air here felt different-heavier, as if saturated with silence and secrets.

  His eyes locked on a figure in the distance-Albert, moving with brisk purpose, his coat billowing slightly behind him. Without looking back, he disappeared around a corner.

  Michiel's pulse quickened.

  He moved swiftly, but cautiously, the tension in his chest building with each step. The corridor stretched on, too clean, too still, as if it had been waiting untouched for years.

  Reaching the intersection, Michiel slowed his pace and pressed his back against the wall, inching toward the corner. He leaned just enough to glance around—

  Empty.

  The hallway ahead ended abruptly in cold steel.

  A dead end.

  Albert was nowhere to be seen.

  "What the..." Michiel whispered, his breath catching in his throat. He took a few hesitant steps forward, scanning the walls, the ceiling-looking for any indication of a hidden door, a vent, anything.

  But there was only silence. And the unsettling realization that Albert had vanished into a place that shouldn't exist.

  Michiel's hands curled into fists at his sides, sweat chilling on his skin.

  How did he do that?

  Michiel frowned, stepping deeper into the sterile corridor, every sense on edge. His fingers brushed along the walls as he moved, feeling for anything out of place-an indentation, a groove, a hairline seam. There has to be something here.

  He pressed panels, tapped at corners, searched for signs of a hidden switch or trigger.

  Nothing.

  When he reached the end, the reality sank in— there was no door, no vent, no sign of passage.

  Just a solid wall staring blankly back at him.

  A shiver crawled up his spine.

  He turned slowly, eyes trailing down the length of the corridor behind him, now stretched out in eerie silence. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly above, but even their glow felt cold... artificial.

  "Where did he go...?" he whispered, voice barely audible over the sound of his own breathing. He swallowed hard, heart thudding in his chest. His mind raced. He couldn’t have just vanished. There has to be a mechanism—something hidden. I'm just not seeing it.

  I just don’t know what it is.

  He turned back, boots echoing faintly against the cold metal floor as he returned to the corner where Albert had disappeared. A low hum vibrated through the walls—distant machinery, the pulse of the compound's artificial life. But the corridor itself remained still, almost too still, as if the air had thickened with the weight of secrets not meant to be uncovered.

  Pressing his back to the wall, Michiel sank into the narrow recess beside the corridor's bend, just out of sight. His breathing slowed, muscles tense. The shadows clung to him like a cloak, and from his vantage point, he could just barely see the stretch of hallway where Albert had vanished. A space that, seconds ago, had swallowed a man whole.

  He narrowed his eyes, watching for even the smallest irregularity—a flicker of light, a shifting panel, a distortion in the wall's reflection.

  Anything.

  Minutes crawled by like hours, and still he waited, each tick of unseen time adding weight to the silence pressing in around him. His heart beat louder in the absence of sound, his thoughts sharpening into a single point of obsession: The Fifth Level is real.

  He clenched his fists, swallowing the dry taste of fear and determination.

  If I wait long enough…

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  If I watch carefully enough…

  Something will reveal itself.

  It didn’t take long.

  From the silence of the corridor, Albert appeared suddenly looking like a specter torn from the edge of death.

  Michiel's breath caught in his throat. He barely recognized the man—his coat was streaked with blood, torn at the sleeve, dark stains soaking through the fabric. Sweat clung to his gaunt face, his skin a ghostly pallor. He looked as though he'd clawed his way out of a nightmare—wild-eyed, staggering, every step a battle against something unseen.

  Michiel shrank back into the shadows, frozen by the sheer shock of Albert's condition. What the hell happened to him? Where did he come from?

  Albert didn't seem to notice him. He leaned against the wall, gasping, his chest heaving with labored breaths. His hand trembled as he reached into his coat and retrieved a small syringe, the liquid inside glowing a violent, radiant blue. It pulsed with a life of its own, as if the serum was alive and angry.

  For a moment, he just stared at it. His lips moved, but no sound came at first-only the rasp of desperation caught in his throat. Then, in a voice cracked and guttural, he growled, "It won't end here. I will survive."

  There was no hesitation.

  He plunged the needle into the side of his neck, grimacing as the contents surged into his bloodstream. His body jolted violently, veins flaring with unnatural light beneath his skin. And then the screaming began-not from his mouth, but from every fiber of his being.

  Michiel watched, paralyzed, as Albert's skin rippled and blistered, steam pouring off him like he was burning from the inside out. The air thickened with the stench of scorched flesh. His muscles contorted, spasming with raw power and unbearable agony. Flesh boiled. Blisters erupted and burst in rapid succession, releasing jets of hissing vapor as he collapsed to one knee, clawing at the floor.

  And still, he didn't cry out.

  He endured.

  He survived.

  The corridor pulsed—filled with unnatural sounds.

  Wet, grotesque squelching echoed off the narrow walls, a sick symphony of muscle knitting, tendons snapping back into place, and skin searing itself shut. The air was thick with the reek of burnt flesh and scorched cloth. Each hiss and pop was punctuated by Albert's strained gasps-rising into guttural screams that tore through the silence like jagged blades.

  His knees buckled. One blood-slicked hand shot out, grabbing the wall for balance. The other clutched his ribs, trembling violently.

  It was too fast.

  Too much.

  He hadn't calculated this. The serum-his creation, his gamble-was more volatile than expected. Far more. The moment it entered his bloodstream, it began rewriting him. And now it was tearing him apart to rebuild him stronger.

  "I... miscalculated," he hissed, lips curled back, teeth clenched against the pain. His voice was ragged, threaded with agony.

  The dim emergency lights flickered erratically, casting distorted shadows on the walls. For a moment, Albert's mind was consumed by images of Edwin—his defiant eyes, his raw, untapped power. Edwin had been a mistake, but also the solution. A perfect contradiction that he would either master or destroy.

  "Damn it," he growled. "I wasn't ready for this... not yet."

  The emergency lights flickered overhead, casting manic, strobing shadows down the length of the hall. Every flash lit the glistening sheen of sweat and blood on his face. In the stuttering dark, phantoms danced on the edge of his vision— ghosts he didn't have the strength to banish.

  One of them had Edwin's face.

  Defiant. Unyielding. Staring at him with those maddening, untamed eyes.

  Edwin: the experiment gone wrong-and terribly right. His greatest failure and his most promising creation.

  A Power he hadn't fully understood... couldn't fully control. A weapon. A key. A threat.

  Albert's breath hitched, the corner of his mouth curling into something between a snarl and a grimace. "Edwin..." he whispered, as if the name

  itself might bring the boy back into the corridor, conjured from the bile and blood.

  He is the answer, Albert thought bitterly. He still is.

  He shoved himself upright with a groan, bones cracking under the pressure. His body was stabilizing now, the pain subsiding to a simmering throb. His thoughts, still jagged and reeling, began to align.

  "Damn it..." he growled under his breath, fists clenched, voice like gravel. "I wasn't ready for this... not yet."

  But the serum didn't care. The transformation had begun.

  "I didn't want to use this damn thing yet," Albert muttered through clenched teeth, his voice low and ragged with frustration. He leaned heavily against the cold wall, breath still hitching in uneven gasps. "It's the only way I won't die using Edwin's healing... but God knows what this will do to me."

  His hand, still trembling from the transformation, slid into his coat pocket. The fabric was sticky with blood-some of it his, some of it not. From the depths, he retrieved a second syringe. The crimson liquid inside glowed faintly, pulsating like a heartbeat. It wasn't just blood—it was the key to everything.

  Edwin's essence.

  The stolen miracle.

  Albert's fingers closed around it like a man gripping the edge of a cliff. His eyes flicked to the tip of the needle, then to the flickering lights above, as though searching for some divine absolution. His voice dropped, rasping with fury and triumph.

  "You'll regret this, Edwin," he whispered darkly, his gaze distant, and unblinking. His lips curled into a twisted smirk, bitter and resolute.

  "I will perfect this belt," he breathed. "And when I do... when your power is mine to command... you'll understand the cost of defiance."

  The pain had faded now, replaced by a stillness more terrifying than the agony. It was the calm that comes after a catastrophe. He slumped against the wall, his body marked by raw, burned flesh, his chest heaving as he struggled to draw a breath.

  Albert stumbled at first, his gait unsteady, each footfall a whispered betrayal of the residual pain still echoing through his nerves. He clutched the wall, breath shallow, trembling fingers slick with blood as he forced his body forward. The corridor pulsed around him with flickering, casting his silhouette in jagged fragments.

  But step by step, the limp began to fade.

  His pace steadied.

  His spine straightened.

  His heavy breathing subsided.

  By the time he reached the elevator at the end of the hall, Albert looked almost untouched—composed. A man reborn from agony covered in splotches of blood.

  In the shadows behind him, Michiel stood frozen, his eyes wide, the thundering of his heart nearly loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

  He'd seen everything.

  Every wince. Every wound. It all disappeared without a trace after Albert injected himself.

  "So..." Michiel breathed, his voice barely audible.

  "The belt.. it's not just tech. It's a gate. And that vial—whatever the hell is in that—that's the key."

  The gears in his mind turned faster than ever, fitting together pieces that had once felt disjointed. He watched Albert disappear into the elevator, then took a step back into the darkness, retreating into the adjoining corridor. His breath caught with the weight of revelation, of purpose.

  He clenched his jaw, his whisper sharpened by resolve.

  "This is it."

  A low exhale left his chest, as if some burden had finally shifted. A bitter smile curved his lips.

  "The moment everything changes."

  His voice hardened with conviction.

  "The chance to repay Robert. To tip the balance.

  To bring Albert down."

  He looked back once more, toward the empty hallway where Albert had stood—where the truth had finally revealed itself.

  "Thank you, General... for trusting me with this."

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