[5] - The Cauterization / The Man in White

The entity shrieked, a sound of pure, shattered rage. This man, this interruption, had come at the worst possible moment, when it was so close to being whole.

The man did not move. He simply stood there. He was tall and built like something meant to endure harsh weather. His features were sharp and Nordic, as if cut from ancient ice. A heavy lock of ashen-white hair fell across the left side of his face, a curtain hiding half his story. But the other half was enough. One blue eye, scanned the room. It moved from the broken window, to the shattered phone, to the thing wearing Stellar's face. He was utterly unfazed by the noise.

He wore a uniform of brilliant, blinding white, a stark challenge to the room's growing darkness. It was a multi-layered jacket and tactical pants, tailored to perfection. The stark fabric made the single black amygdala pin on his lapel look like a hole punched in reality. Beneath the sleek fabric, subtle lines hinted at something concealed.

From her prison in the endless white, Stellar stared at the newcomer. A wild, desperate hope flared in her chest. He was here. He had to be here to help her.

The entity charged, its bloody left arm extended like a spear. It moved with a horrifying, jerky speed. The man, Sven, moved with the calm economy of a falling stone. He sidestepped, caught the extended arm, and used the entity's own momentum to slam it hard onto the marble floor. The impact echoed through the penthouse.

The entity thrashed beneath his boot, its face contorting, the beautiful mask melting away to reveal something raw and hideous beneath. Sven placed his foot on its neck, pinning it. With his free hand, he brought up his weapon. It was a sleek, retro-futuristic device, but as he moved, parts of it shifted, unlocked, and refolded. In a heartbeat, the gun was gone. In his hand was a brutal handaxe, its edges gleaming with a faint, technological sheen.

The entity, pinned and helpless, did not look afraid. It smiled that creepy, knowing smile. And then Sven heard it. A soft, rattling sound, like wind chimes made of bone.

He looked behind him.

The shards of the giant mirror, which had fallen to the floor, were now floating in the air. They hung there for a moment, a constellation of sharp edges, and then they flew at him.

Sven covered his head and rolled. Most of the glass fragments whistled past, but one caught the shoulder of his white jacket, ripping the fabric and exposing the dark armor beneath. It had protected him.

The floating shards did not pursue him. Instead, they reversed direction and stabbed into the entity's own arms. The glass twisted and rotated in a gruesome dance, weaving itself into a spiked armor and forming long, cruel blades where its hands should be.

Stellar screamed in her white world, seeing her beautiful arm now wounded and monstrous. She did not yet realize there was something far more important at stake.

Sven dodged a whirlwind of attacks, the glass blades slicing the air where he had just been. He flipped the heavy bed up on its side, using it as a shield. The entity attacked the bed, shredding the mattress and frame with terrifying force until it was confetti. It looked behind the wreckage, expecting to find him hiding. Nothing. Sven was not there.

It looked around, almost in panic, until finally looked up.

Sven was standing upside down on the ceiling, his white hair falling away from his face like a strange flag. It was an impossible posture, a defiance of physics that suggested the use of some mysterious, authorized artifact on his person. Then he dropped.

He fell like a hawk. There was no wasted motion. In midair, the brutal handaxe in his grip swung in a clean, vicious arc. It severed the entity's grotesquely armored arm. The limb did not bleed, but shattered like porcelain.

He landed silently as the entity stared, confused by the empty space where he had just been.

Then, a sound cut through the silence. It was Stellar's voice, but it came from the thing on the floor.

"Please," the voice whimpered, a perfect imitation of her terror. "Don't let it hurt me anymore. Help me."

Sven paused. His head tilted a fraction. He was listening.

The entity thought it had found a weakness. It used the moment, the severed arm on the floor twitching. The glass shards lifted and swirled, forming into a long, sharp spear that now aimed directly at his heart. It believed he cared.

"I do not care about either of you," Sven said, his voice a flat monotone that carried through the room. "The human inside is already a lost cause."

He watched the glass spear fly toward him. Time seemed to stretch. Sven's movements, looks like a deliberate ballet. He moved aside, the spear passing so close he could feel the cold air it displaced.

The entity, distracted by its own creation, did not see the final movement. A single, clean swoop.

The entity's head came away. Blood splashed out, but in midair, the droplets crystallized, turning into tiny shards of glass that shattered when they hit the floor.

The severed head hung in the air for a moment, defying physics one last time. Stellar, from her prison, looked out from the dying eyes of her own body. The eyes were turning to cracked glass, and deep within them, she could see a tiny, terrified reflection. Herself, screaming without a sound.

No more Stellar, or even Sarah. None.

The body beneath it began to crackle, then shattered completely. It did not bleed. It broke, like a statue falling from a great height.

Sven turned his head, shielding his face with his torn jacket as a storm of glass filled the room.

Then, silence.

Sven looked around the devastation. His gaze fell upon the source, the original sin. The broken hand mirror lay on the floor, a new shard of blood-stained glass now fused to its frame.

He walked over and picked it up. He allowed himself one very short glance at its surface.

In the cracked reflection, he did not see the ruined penthouse. He saw himself, but not as he was. In the glass, a woman with a warm smile stood beside him, and a little child was kissing his cheek in the glass.

Sven's expression did not change. "They are dead," he said to the empty room, his voice devoid of warmth. "The mirror cannot trick me."

He produced a square of thick, black cloth from a pocket and draped it over the mirror, blocking all light, all reflection.

He pulled his Axiomatic Relay Unit from his belt. The device chimed softly.

"Containment of AMG-1875 is done," he said into it. "Requesting a cleanup crew."

A voice, surprisingly cheery and female, crackled from the speaker. "Copy that, Sven! But we are noting, again, that a Conservator Supervisor should not be alone. You need an Apprentice, and also a Handler!"

Sven's single visible eye remained fixed on the covered mirror. He did not reply.

He simply closed the connection, leaving only the quiet and the man in white.