The signal was faint. Just a flicker.
Phantom's energy trail—if it could even be called that—had always been elusive and inconsistent, like smoke slipping through clenched fingers. But this time, it left something new behind: a fracture in the air. Like a tear at the edge where silence and static collided, a place where reality shivered for just a moment.
Dante traced that tear with his senses, following it deep beneath Midtown to the old tram tunnels. Long abandoned, these tunnels were a ghost of the city's past, left to rot under layers of dust and secrecy. The Echo Division had no record of this place. That absence set every warning bell ringing in Dante's gut.
He crouched by a rusted iron gate, fingertips grazing the cold stone pillars flanking it. The stone still held warmth, faint but real, as if something had just passed through.
His comm crackled to life.
"Dante, you sure about this?" Pulse's voice came through, strained and cautious. "You're way off-grid. This isn't in any ops database."
Dante's jaw tightened. "He left a signature. Not energy, but movement. Something raw."
"You're not fully healed. Copybreakers are still out there, Dante. You don't need to—"
"I won't be ready if I keep waiting." Dante cut him off, voice low, steady. "I'm going in."
A pause. Then, "I've got your six, from a distance. But if this goes sideways, don't play hero."
Dante said nothing.
He pushed open the gate, stepping into the darkness.
The deeper he descended, the more the familiar urban decay faded away.
The smell shifted. No longer damp concrete and rust, but a sharp tang of bleach mixed with ozone. The walls, impossibly, were pristine—slick metal and polished surfaces that gleamed faintly even in the sparse light.
The floor was covered in metal panels that clicked softly beneath Dante's boots.
No echo.
No reverb.
This was no longer just a forgotten underground tunnel. It was engineered—designed.
Designed to trap.
Before Dante could think twice, the walls hissed. Vaporised coolant flooded the space, thick and quick.
"Gas. Suppressant," Dante muttered, lungs tightening. His skin prickled, his powers faltering.
He tried activating Current Stride—the electrical arc flickered, sputtered, then died.
[ENERGY FLOW: INHIBITED]
[ADAPTIVE MODE: FORCED DORMANCY]
The door slammed shut behind him with a thunderous finality.
Footsteps echoed ahead, slow and heavy.
Not Phantom's.
This was something else.
Something worse.
Then the figure appeared.
Tall. Broad. No mask. Military cut hair sharp as a blade. Green tactical armour blends perfectly with the cold steel environment. His eyes locked onto Dante like a predator sighting its prey.
"Subject Echo-17", the man said calmly. "Name: [REDACTED]. Ability: Copy and Adapt."
Dante clenched his fists, muscles coiling.
The man smiled—just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Name's Copybreaker. Built to break exactly one person."
Without warning, Copybreaker moved.
Faster than Dante expected.
Dante barely dodged. The man's strike slammed into the wall behind him, denting reinforced steel as if it were paper.
Strength—unrelenting, overwhelming.
Dante lunged, grabbing for the attacker's wrist to analyse his movements, searching for a weakness.
Nothing.
No energy signature.
No data.
No response.
The man's grip seized Dante's throat, lifting him against the wall, fingers tightening like steel bands.
"I'm not like Phantom," Copybreaker growled. "You don't copy what I don't have."
Dante struggled, then kicked free, driving his knee into the man's ribs.
Copybreaker barely flinched.
"I don't need powers," he said coldly. "You think you're a god. You're just a mirror. And I shatter mirrors."
Dante dropped low, using Copybreaker's momentum to flip him.
It worked—momentarily.
The man rolled, recovering instantly, elbow smashing into Dante's ribs—the same spot still sore from Samson's last hit.
Dante hit the ground hard.
Copybreaker didn't relent.
His movements were ruthless and precise.
Methodical.
No wasted motion.
No patterns to read.
Dante realised the horrifying truth too late.
Copybreaker wasn't just fighting him.
He was studying him.
Like a living algorithm, designed to analyse and dismantle Dante's every move.
Desperation clawed at Dante's mind.
He needed an edge.
He stopped trying to copy.
He started to predict.
He feinted a strike high.
Copybreaker blocked.
Then Dante pivoted—not to attack, but to test the man's recovery.
One... two... three seconds.
Slight hesitation on the left foot.
A weakness.
Dante spun, using the wall to launch himself, kicking the man's knee from the side.
Copybreaker stumbled—just for a moment.
Enough.
Dante dropped low, sliding beneath, wrapping his legs tight around the man's torso, squeezing with every ounce of leverage to compress his lungs.
Not power.
Technique.
Copybreaker smashed Dante to the ground, but this time Dante absorbed the impact.
Rolled with it.
Let the pain anchor him.
The man staggered back, panting, for the first time showing strain.
"You adapt faster than they said," Copybreaker muttered.
Dante stood, cracking his neck. "Yeah. But you don't."
Before Copybreaker could react, Dante struck first—fast, brutal.
His fist connected with a sharp crack.
Copybreaker faltered, surprised.
Dante pressed the advantage, moving like lightning.
Then Copybreaker smiled again.
A slow, dangerous smile.
"Impressive," he said. "But this isn't about strength. It's about breaking your will."
Copybreaker surged forward, faster now.
Dante ducked and weaved, matching the speed.
Every strike was a test.
Every block has a question.
The fight was a brutal dance in the shadows—steel against flesh, mind against mind.
Dante's breath came in ragged gasps.
His ribs screamed.
His muscles burnt.
But his mind was clear.
Then the tunnel shuddered—an explosion echoing from somewhere deeper.
Copybreaker's eyes flicked to the source.
Dante seized the moment.
With a surge of power, he summoned Current Stride again, focusing all his will.
The electricity crackled, coiling around his arms like living serpents.
Copybreaker hesitated.
Just long enough.
Dante struck with everything he had—electrified fists smashing into the man's chest.
Copybreaker arched back, then slammed Dante against the wall with brutal force.
Pain exploded through Dante's side.
He gritted his teeth and refused to fall.
Copybreaker advanced, voice low and threatening.
"You can't win."
Dante shook his head.
"This fight isn't about winning."
"It's about surviving."
With a roar, Dante surged forward, breaking through the man's defences.
He drove Copybreaker back, blow after blow.
Then, a flash—Copybreaker's armour cracked.
A weak point.
Dante aimed a final strike, shattering the armour plate over his chest.
The man stumbled.
Dante grabbed him, twisting hard.
"Listen", Dante growled, "you might be built to break me. But I'm not just a mirror."
Copybreaker's eyes narrowed.
"What are you, then?"
"A storm."
And with that, Dante slammed him to the ground and pinned him.
Copybreaker struggled beneath him, but the fight was over.
Dante caught his breath, his body shaking from pain and adrenaline.
"Why hunt me?" Dante demanded, voice rough.
Copybreaker smiled again—this time, genuinely.
"Because you're the key."
"And what key is that?"
Copybreaker's grin faded.
"To unlock the next phase."
Before Dante could react, an alarm blared, red lights flooding the tunnels.
"Time's up," Copybreaker said, lips curling.
Suddenly, the floor beneath them trembled.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the metal panels.
Dante rolled away just as the ground exploded into shards.
The tunnel began collapsing.
"We're getting out," Dante said, scrambling up.
Copybreaker watched, eyes cold but calm.
"We'll meet again, Dante."
Dante didn't reply.
He ran.
The path behind him collapsed into dust and darkness.
But ahead, the faint signal flickered again.
A fracture between silence and static.
And Dante wasn't done chasing it yet.