The safehouse's lamplight flickered, casting jagged shadows across walls scarred by years of hidden wars, the air so thick with tension it seemed to pulse. Archer stood rigid, his heart pounding like a war drum, facing the Boss, whose coated silhouette loomed like a specter woven from darkness. The man's stillness was a chilling enigma, his presence a silent vortex that threatened to unravel the room's fragile calm. Archer's breath hitched, his eyes blazing with a desperate, almost unearthly light, as if his soul itself were clawing for truth in the suffocating gloom.
"Who are you?" the Boss taunted, his voice dripping with venomous sarcasm, a mocking laugh slicing through the silence as he turned to slip away. "Do I need to remind you of your own name?"
"I'm serious," Archer snapped, his voice a blade of raw demand, cutting through the haze. His eyes flared, glowing with an eerie, defiant intensity, as he lunged forward, seizing the Boss's coat and yanking him back with a force that trembled in his bones. "Who am I? You know the truth—I know you do."
"Archer, let go of my coat," the Boss growled, his voice low and lethal, his face hardening into a mask of cold authority, the laughter snuffed out like a dying ember.
Archer's grip tightened, knuckles whitening, his voice quaking with two weeks of torment. "I've been tearing myself apart, wondering who I am. Hina called me the third member, but when I begged for more, she said she'd told me all she knew. The other members of the Assassin's Code—they shut me out, told me to wait for you. Now you're brushing me off like I'm nothing?"
"I said let go," the Boss repeated, his aura exploding like a tempest, a crushing wave of invisible force that roared through the room, making the air itself groan. The members of the Assassin's Code, lurking in the shadows, stiffened, their faces taut, eyes glinting with wary respect for the power but holding their ground. The lamplight sputtered, as if cowed by the Boss's wrath.
Archer stood unshaken, a lone flame against the storm, his eyes locked on the Boss's with unyielding resolve. "This coat," he said, his voice steady but haunted, a memory clawing at his mind, "you wore one just like it when i met you in that alley as a kid. What happened that day?"
The Boss's eyes widened, a flicker of dangerous curiosity piercing his stern facade. "Well, now," he murmured, his tone shifting to a predatory intrigue, like a hunter spotting rare prey. "You're not even fazed. Your Soul Energy's grown stronger than I ever dreamed." He paused, his gaze dissecting Archer, a faint, unsettling smile curling his lips. "Let go of my coat, and I'll answer three questions—specific ones, not vague drivel like 'who are you.'"
Archer's fingers trembled, his heart a frantic rhythm of defiance and doubt, before he slowly released the coat, collapsing onto a creaking cot, its groan echoing his exhaustion. "Soul Energy," he said, his voice quieter but burning with urgency, "what is it? I overheard Mr. One talking about it, but I didn't understand."
The Boss settled into a chair, crossing his legs with a delilberate grace, his eyes glinting like shards of obsidian in the dim light. "Soul Energy is the thread binding all life," he said, his voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in Archer's chest. "It's the spark of existence, the foundation of everything. I'm guessing Mr. One mentioned wielding it physically, so I'll cut to the core. Few can harness it. Some train for decades and fail; others are born with the gift—the 'infected,' as they're called. Their power is innate, a rare and perilous force."
Archer's brow furrowed, a pang of disappointment twisting in his gut. "That's vague," he muttered, frustration flaring. "Next question: why is the government hunting those with innate Soul Energy?"
The Boss leaned forward, his gaze a blade that seemed to pierce Archer's soul, a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips. "There's so much you don't know, Archer. What shape is this world? What does it look like?"
Archer blinked, thrown off, his mind scrambling through fog. "It's… spherical, isn't it?"
The Boss's laughter erupted, a jarring, booming roar that shook the safehouse, the lamplight quivering in its wake. "Lies the government spins to breed gullible drones," he sneered, his voice thick with scorn. "This world isn't spherical—not anymore. It's a jagged fusion of eight planets, forged centuries ago in a war the government still dreads. Technically nine, if you count the core—our original Earth, the heart of this fractured system."
Archer's jaw dropped, his mind reeling, a storm of confusion and curiosity tightening his throat. "Eight planets? How?" he stammered, his voice barely holding steady.
The Boss's laughter faded, his expression turning grave, his voice a low, ominous rumble. "That war reshaped reality itself. Now, your question—why the hunt? Do you believe in reincarnation?"
Archer's brow creased, uncertainty flickering like a dying spark. "Like in those Japanese cartoons?"
The Boss pressed a palm to his mouth, stifling a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with barely contained amusement. "You're a child," he said, steadying himself. "Reincarnation: a soul reborn in a new life. Those with innate Soul Energy are tied to that ancient war. Every warrior was bound by an unknown man's power, a curse or gift to ensure their reincarnation. His reasons are lost, but we believe he wanted the war's embers to burn forever—a brilliant, twisted plan. Those warriors are reborn with their old abilities, memories of past lives forgotten, but their sense of justice or vengeance intact. The government doesn't just fear the reincarnates—they dread a repeat of that war's apocalypse.
Archer's breath caught, shock surging through him like a live wire, his mind a chaotic swirl of fear and wonder. "Who am I a reincarnate of?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper, his heart teetering between dread and hope.
The Boss's lips curved into a faint, cryptic smile, his eyes softening for a fleeting, unnerving moment. "I don't know," he said, his voice almost tender, "but it was someone extraordinary."
Archer's eyes narrowed, suspicion gnawing at his core, the Boss's words ringing hollow. "Last question," he said, leaning forward, his voice raw with a hunger for truth, the air around him crackling with anticipation. "That day in the alley, when you reached for me—what happened next?"
The silence that followed was a void, swallowing sound and light, the lamplight dimming as if the room itself held its breath. The Boss leaned closer, his face half-cloaked in shadow, his eyes glinting with secrets too heavy to speak. "I won't tell you everything," he said, his voice a low, deliberate murmur, each word a step toward an abyss. "You asked me to hold back details before you lost your memory. But I'll give you what I can." He paused, the air trembling with the weight of what was to come, every gaze in the room locked on him. Archer leaned forward, his heart a frantic beat, as the Boss was about to narrate all that happened that day.