The Architect

Neon could still feel her.

The vision had been brief—a flicker of her presence at the other end of the ruined city—but it had been enough. Enough to know she was real, that she had made it. That she was fighting just as he was.

His fingers curled into fists, feeling the heat of battle still lingering in his muscles, the phantom press of steel against his skin. The fight outside still raged, but in here, in the depths of the tower, all was quiet.

The others stood around him, breaths ragged, bodies tense, their weapons slick with the blood of soldiers. The war they had been trapped in for centuries—it had been built on a lie.

And now they were here to burn it down.

The energy pulsed beneath their feet, deep and resonant, guiding them forward. Neon took the first step, then another, pushing through the eerie silence of the tower’s interior. The walls hummed with shifting light, smooth black metal veined with something alive, something that whispered as they moved. He could feel it, thrumming in his bones. The Architect was near.

The hallway stretched long and narrow before opening into a vast chamber. And at the center, waiting for them, was the Architect.

Neon stopped breathing.

The figure stood at the base of a towering machine, its core radiating with unstable energy, the same energy that had pulled them all here. He was draped in black, his form lit only by the erratic flickers of the machine behind him. And he was not alone.

Beside him, to his left, stood the General.

Neon’s blood ran cold.

The resemblance was undeniable. The same sharp-cut features, the same stance. The General looked exactly like Aria’s father.

His stomach twisted.

And on the Architect’s right—

Sakura.

Her presence sent a sharp pang through his chest. She stood there like a ghost, expression unreadable, eyes dull and weary. But she seemed hopeful, staring down at him.

Neon swallowed, heart hammering against his ribs. They had fought through legions of fabricated soldiers, cut through wave after wave of soulless bodies to get here. And now, it was just them.

A final fight.

“You made it,” the Architect said, voice as smooth as the metal walls. “I was beginning to wonder.”

Neon’s jaw clenched. His fingers twitched toward his weapon, his entire body screaming for action.

Sakura took a slow step forward, gaze locked on him.

“I never wanted to fight you,” she murmured. “But I will.”

His chest ached.

“Sakura.” His voice was quiet, pained.

She didn’t move.

Max shifted beside him, blade at the ready. “There’s nothing left to say,” he muttered.

Maybe he was right. Neon exhaled slowly.

Then, he moved.

He was fast—Sakura was faster. Their blades clashed in a spray of sparks, the impact reverberating through his bones. She was merciless, a flurry of motion, striking with precision. Neon barely had time to block.

To the side, Max and Riven had engaged the General. The sound of clashing metal filled the chamber, the fight exploding all at once.

But it was the Architect who stood still, watching.

And Neon knew.

This wasn’t the real fight. This was just the beginning.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Outside, Aria fought like a storm.

The battlefield was chaos, the sounds of war folding into a deafening roar around her. The city was burning, metal and light crumbling beneath the weight of it all.

She struck down another one of the Architect´s soldiers, her blade flashing under the shifting skies. Her troops moved with her, cutting through the opposition with ruthless efficiency. But it wasn’t enough.

They needed to reach the tower.

She could see it in the distance, looming like a phantom against the dark horizon.

Neon was probably there by now, making his way further inside as they fought here.

Her heart clenched.

She hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard his voice, hadn’t touched his hand. But she had seen him in that vision. And that was enough.

He was alive. He was fighting.

And so was she.

“Push forward!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the madness.

Her soldiers surged ahead, blades flashing, bodies colliding with the enemy like waves crashing against stone. She fought at the front, every movement precise, every strike lethal.

They had to get through.

They had to end this.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Neon barely had time to breathe.

Sakura’s strikes were graceful yet violent—unrelenting, precise, and ruthless. He parried desperately, but every block sent jolts of pain through his arms. His muscles burned, his breath came in ragged bursts. But he wasn’t the same as before. He wasn’t alone.

Anne shot in from the side, daggers flashing as Max turned to follow as well, which forced Sakura to pivot. Neon saw the opening and took it. He wrenched his blade free and twisted, his strike slicing across her side.

Sakura gasped, staggering back, her hand flying to the wound. Crimson bloomed between her fingers. She didn’t scream. She only looked at him.

His grip on his weapon tightened.

She exhaled shakily. And then—

Her blade fell from her hands.

The clang of metal against the floor echoed like a gunshot. Max moved beside him, weapon raised, but Neon stopped him with a look. Sakura didn’t move. She only pressed a trembling hand to her wound, dropping to her knees.

“I’m... done,” she murmured slowly.

Neon’s chest ached. But before he could say anything, slow, deliberate clapping filled the chamber.

The Architect.

Neon turned sharply, eyes locking onto the man for the first time.

Cold. Calculating. Empty.

“You are an anomaly,” the Architect said, tilting his head slightly, as if observing an insect. “You were never meant to exist. And yet, here you are.”

Neon’s fingers curled into fists.

“I exist,” he growled, shifting into a stance. “And my friends are with me. Together, we´re going to end this forever.”

The Architect smiled. "My boy, this is forever. This is the world that I´ve created. You ought to be thankful for that."

"You´ve stolen the lives of millions!" Neon screamed. "I´m going to end this madness!"

“You fools... you don´t understand...”

He stepped back toward the machine behind him. It flared to life, energy pulsing in violent waves.

Neon lunged.

The world exploded.

A concussive blast ripped through the chamber, slamming into Neon like a battering ram. He barely had time to brace before something—some unseen force—tore through him. His body seized as electricity crackled through his veins, burning, freezing, tearing all at once.

Then he was airborne. His vision blurred as he hit the ground hard, pain lancing through every nerve. Before he could recover, the Architect was there, moving with unnatural speed.

A boot slammed into Neon’s stomach. He choked on a gasp as the force sent him sliding across the stone floor. He barely had time to roll before a crushing weight pressed down on his chest.The Architect’s hand.

Cold fingers clamped around his throat, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Neon gasped, clawing at the iron grip, his feet kicking uselessly in the air.

“You fight so hard,” the Architect mused, voice almost pitying. “But you are nothing more than a mistake. A flaw in the grand design. My grand design.”

Neon’s vision swam. His body screamed in agony, but he forced his arm up, gripping his sword. 

He swung wildly—

A blinding flash. Pain exploded in his side.

His breath caught as something tore through his body, burning, searing. He didn’t even realize he had been impaled until he looked down. The Architect’s blade—serrated, pulsing with energy—was buried deep in his abdomen.

Neon’s mouth opened in a silent cry. Blood dripped from his lips. The pain was indescribable, like his insides were unraveling, like his very essence was being ripped away.The Architect leaned in. “You will fade, as all anomalies must.”

With a brutal twist, he wrenched the blade free.

Neon crumpled to the ground. His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering uselessly beside him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The world flickered at the edges, darkening, narrowing.

He barely registered the shouts. Anne. Max. But one voice cut through the haze.

“Aria,” he tried to whisper, but no sound came.

Then—hands.

Not the Architect’s. Not the General’s.

Hers.

Sakura was reaching for him. Her hands trembled, blood staining her fingers, but she wasn’t reaching for her blade. Wasn’t reaching for the Architect.

She was reaching for him.

The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was her face—her lips parted in a choked breath, her eyes filled with something he couldn’t name.

Then his world faded into darkness at last.