Chapter 24 Breaking the Mask

  Nightgard capitalized on my surprise, slamming the back of his skull into my face. The blow shattered my white porcelain mask. It cracked and splintered apart, pieces raining down like shards of an exposed lie. Thankfully, I’d worn a bonnet mask beneath for backup, but my face still stung from the impact. I instinctively went full intangible to avoid the fragments cutting into my skin.

  Wearing the porcelain mask had felt like such a good idea, an edge to amplify the mind games I thrived on. But now, as I phased through Nightgard’s follow-up sweeping kick, I realized how impractical it truly was. It was all show and no substance, like the fishing line trick from earlier. Pretentious. That’s what it was. I shouldn’t have bothered.

  A wormhole shimmered into existence behind me, and I sidestepped with a sharp pivot. Another appeared above me, and before I could react, a crate came crashing down from its glowing edge. I flicked a pair of cards at Nightgard and Wormhole, but Wormhole conjured small portals to intercept, redirecting the projectiles into harmless spirals away from them both.

  The crate slammed down where I’d been standing seconds ago, shaking the floor beneath me. I propelled myself forward, becoming tangible mid-motion, and unleashed a volley of intangible cards. Wormhole, fast as he was, couldn’t catch all of them. A few slipped past his defenses, finding their target in Nightgard.

  But Nightgard wasn’t helpless. His cape flared, twirling with calculated grace as he spun to intercept my cards. The fabric, wide and flexible, caught the intangible projectiles and neutralized them the second they turned solid. The way it worked—how much surface area the cape had to compensate—was infuriatingly efficient.

  I charged, going full intangible as I dashed toward Nightgard. Wormholes popped into existence around me, traps meant to corral me, but I skated along the steel floor, keeping my feet partially phased to glide and evade. Improvisation was dangerous, almost as much as being unprepared, but I was running out of options.

  I engaged Nightgard in close combat, throwing a punch to bait him. He flinched back to disengage, but I flicked my fingers open, releasing a crumpled card from my hand. As I turned tangible, the card gained the force it needed to shoot forward, landing true.

  The Joker. My literal and metaphorical ace in the hole.

  It struck his right eye. Nightgard stumbled, clutching his face, and I used the opportunity to dart to his blind side. My hand found his shoulder. I made him intangible, sinking him partially into the steel floor before snapping him back to tangible reality.

  The result was brutal. His foot was trapped, crushed against the metal beneath us. Before he could process the pain, I shoved him, tearing his leg at the submerged point. Nightgard screamed, his balance and focus shattered as he collapsed to the ground.

  I used his falling form as cover, unleashing another volley of cards toward Wormhole. The cards streaked through the air, promising a finishing blow, but Wormhole wasn’t taking chances. He summoned a wormhole behind him and leapt backward into it, vanishing in an instant.

  My projectiles hit nothing.

  A pity.

  Nightgard dragged himself across the floor, leaving streaks of blood in his wake. His missing foot, the result of my power, was a gruesome testament to how far I’d been pushed tonight. I stepped closer, keeping my gaze locked on his retreating form.

  “Your partner left you for good,” I said, my voice calm, almost conversational. “You know what that means, don’t you?” I crouched slightly, angling my head to catch his pained expression. “You’re expendable. But lucky for you, I’m feeling generous. Tell me the password you’ve gleaned from the cargo, and I’ll make this as painless as possible.”

  Nightgard’s eyes burned with defiance, but it was fleeting, a flicker drowned by the harsh reality of his situation. “Just kill me,” he growled, his voice thick with pain. He clawed at the floor with trembling hands, the sheer survival instinct of a cornered animal driving him forward.

  I tilted my head, watching him struggle. “I could kill you, sure. But you’re not in a position to bargain for mercy. See, I’ve realized something about my power tonight.” I gestured at the mangled remains of his legs. “It’s not just destructive... It’s final and painful. There’s no coming back from what I can do to you. So maybe you should reconsider your answer.”

  Nightgard stopped crawling, his breathing labored. He turned his head slightly, glaring at me through gritted teeth. “You’re bluffing,” he spat.

  I sighed, almost disappointed. “Bluffing?” I touched a nearby steel crate, phasing my fingers into its surface before pulling them back out. “I’ve had enough practice tonight to know exactly what I can do. You’re alive because I let you be alive. And you’ll stay that way for as long as I decide you’re useful.”

  The silence between us was heavy, broken only by the faint sounds of his ragged breaths.

  “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice cracking. “The cargo—what’s inside—it’s protected by something… more. Even if you had the code, you’d never make it out alive. Not with that.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’re stalling. I don’t need the whole story, just the password.”

  He looked at me, a twisted smirk forming on his bloodied lips. “You’re out of your depth, Eclipse. You think you’re playing a game, but this cargo? It’s not something you can handle. You’ll die for it.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I stepped forward and crouched beside him, keeping my voice low and sharp. “That’s not your concern. Focus on your own survival. Or don’t. Either way, you’re going to talk. And if you think I’m bluffing again…” I reached out, my hand hovering just above his remaining ankle.

  Nightgard flinched, panic flashing in his eyes. “Wait! Wait!” he shouted, his defiance cracking under the pressure. “I don’t know the full password, okay? I didn’t manage to decipher them all the way, because you interrupted.

  “I’m satisfied with what you know.”

  He hesitated, then spat out, “Delta-7-1-4.”

  I committed it to memory, but my expression didn’t change. “Good. Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Nightgard slumped back against the crate, his expression etched with resignation. "Now, as you promised… make my death peaceful," he rasped, closing his eyes like a man surrendering to the inevitable.

  I took out a card, its edge gleaming faintly in the dim light. "Peaceful as it gets," I murmured, more to myself than to him. With a flick of my wrist, the card zipped through the air, embedding itself perfectly in the center of his forehead. He didn’t even flinch. Just a quiet exhale, and then stillness.

  I stepped back, taking a moment to absorb the scene. Half the password was all I had, but it was enough. A fragment like that could be leveraged in the right circumstances, saved for emergencies, or some future negotiation.

  As I tucked away my remaining cards, Mathilda's voice crackled to life around me, resonating like a whisper only I could hear. Her Acoustokinesis always made me jump, no matter how many times she used it. “Fight’s over,” she said briskly. “Return to the deck at once. I’ll send Vortex to fetch you. That level doesn’t exactly have stairs or an elevator.”

  I exhaled a long breath, the adrenaline finally ebbing. "Understood," I muttered, knowing she could hear me. My eyes scanned the chaos one last time, the aftermath of the battle etched in steel and blood. Nightgard’s lifeless body leaned against the crate like a grim sentinel, his face frozen in an expression of uneasy peace.

  Vortex materialized before me, his usual polished composure now visibly cracked... literally. His helmet bore jagged fractures, spider-webbing outward like the remnants of a shattered windshield. The faint hum of his power radiated off him, a reminder of just how volatile his abilities could be under stress.

  “It looks like you’ve had a slaughter,” he said, his tone hovering somewhere between impressed and uneasy. His visor tilted slightly as he scanned the carnage around me. “I apologize for being unable to back you up. I was briefed that this particular level was one of my responsibilities as well, but Mathilda decided I was needed more on the deck.”

  “You missed all the fun,” I replied, trying to sound more casual than I felt. My body was screaming for rest, and the aftermath of my powers always left an ache deep in my bones, like I was paying the price for bending physics too far.

  Vortex’s gaze settled on Nightgard’s crumpled form, the card still lodged in his forehead like some grim calling card. “Nightgard,” he remarked, though I could tell he wasn’t thrilled about it.

  “He didn’t leave me much choice,” I said simply, stuffing my remaining cards back into their pouch. “Besides, if I hadn’t handled it, Wormhole would’ve turned this whole level into Swiss cheese.”

  Vortex nodded, but I caught the tension in his posture. “Wormhole fled?”

  “Of course he did,” I muttered. “As soon as he saw the tide turning. He’s smart enough to know when to cut his losses.”

  Vortex didn’t respond immediately, his focus drifting to the crate that loomed ominously behind us. “And the cargo?”

  “Untouched,” I said, a little sharper than I intended. I didn’t like how his voice dipped into something that almost sounded like suspicion. “I didn’t come here to play courier.”

  He raised his hands defensively. “Relax. Just doing my due diligence.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe next time do it before things get messy,” I shot back, my exhaustion sharpening my tongue.

  Vortex let out a low, weary sigh. “Fair enough. Let’s get out of here before anything else goes sideways.”

  I nodded, stepping closer as the air around us shimmered. The world blurred for a split second, the sensation of being pulled through a pinhole making my stomach churn. When the distortion cleared, we were back on the deck, where Mathilda was waiting.

  Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable as always, but I caught the slightest flicker of relief in her eyes. “About time,” she said. “We’ve got bigger problems to deal with now.”

  The first thing I noticed was the blood, an overwhelming amount of it. Dark streaks stained the deck, and pools had gathered in the cracks between the steel plates. The ship’s crew members moved in grim efficiency, hosing down the worst of it and dragging bodies of SRC troopers into a haphazard pile near the edge. No sign of any capes among the corpses, which meant no cape deaths. Small consolation, though. The air reeked of iron and salt, an acrid mix that clung to my nostrils.

  I turned my gaze to the ocean. The sun glinted off the waves, deceptively serene, as if we hadn’t just fought for our lives. The ship had departed a while ago, now cutting through open water, leaving the chaos in its wake. I shifted my attention to the other capes around me, assessing. None of them were dead, but they looked like they’d been through hell. Bruises, tattered costumes, and blood—not all of it theirs—marked every one of them.

  On top of the original eight freelancer capes I’d seen earlier, three more now stood among us: Lion King, a towering figure draped in regal golden armor; Gladiatress, whose blade-like gauntlets shimmered ominously; and Berserker, a mountain of a man, his bare chest streaked with blood and his eyes glinting with an unspent fury. Reinforcements, or maybe just late arrivals. They were Pride’s capes.

  Mathilda stood at the center of the group, her arms crossed, her expression carved from stone. She had the presence of someone who could snap this group into line with a single word. Her piercing gaze swept over the deck, lingering on each of us before she spoke.

  “There is a traitor on this ship,” she said, her voice cold and precise.

  Her words hit like a thunderclap. Everyone froze. Even the crew paused mid-motion, some glancing nervously toward us. The Pride capes exchanged wary looks, and I didn’t miss the slight tightening of Gladiatress’s grip on her gauntlets or the way Lion King’s stance shifted subtly into one of readiness.

  I stayed quiet. A traitor? That explained the chaos below deck, the relentless waves of SRC troopers. Someone had fed them information. Someone wanted this mission to fail, or wanted something aboard this ship to fall into the wrong hands.

  The question was… was this ‘traitor’ the same person Royal was looking for?

  “Before anyone panics,” Mathilda continued, her voice cutting through the growing murmurs, “understand this: the traitor has not left the ship. They are still among us.”

  That was comforting. Not.

  Berserker growled low, the sound more animal than human. “You got proof of this, Mathilda? Or are we just supposed to take your word?”

  Mathilda’s sharp eyes landed on him, her expression unflinching. “The timing of the SRC attack was too precise to be a coincidence. They knew where we’d be and how to intercept us. And they knew exactly what to prioritize.”

  “Which means someone leaked the route or the cargo,” Gladiatress added, her voice measured but cold. She turned her steely gaze toward the rest of us. “The question is, who?”

  Mathilda nodded. “And until we find out, no one leaves this ship. Is that clear?”

  The tension was suffocating now, every cape sizing up the others like they’d just been handed a murder mystery with no clues. I kept my breathing steady, my expression neutral, while my mind worked furiously. Whoever the traitor was, they’d just made my job a lot harder.