Breachers

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Lost in the Dark

Day 113

A jolt of pain woke her, followed by a plunge of cold that nearly pulled her under once more. Her thoughts felt slow, like they had to push through mud to reach her.

Something jostled her, sending pain flaring deep in her chest. For a moment, she thought she was falling—until she realized she was being carried by someone. The world rocked and lurched around her in jagged flashes: broken ceiling tiles, cracked walls, streaks of red she couldn't place.

Her body felt heavy, too far away. She couldn't feel her hands. Couldn't feel much of anything.

Everything sounded distant, like someone had turned the volume down. She could feel the wind moving around her, letting her know that she was moving fast. Somewhere behind them, something shrieked—a high, scraping sound that didn't sound human. The noise clawed at her skull like a warning, but she couldn't make sense of it.

She forced herself to look at the person carrying her, noticing the torn, ragged clothes on his frame and the missing right arm. Three blue lights glinted across a smooth metal plate under his hoodie, hiding his face from view. Her vision blurred again before she could focus.

She tried to breathe, but her chest didn't move right. The effort burned. Cold sat deep in her bones now, growing worse the longer she stayed awake.

'Marcus?' she thought. It didn't fit, but her mind kept circling it.

Everything tilted. A door got kicked open. Shouts rang out ahead of them—muffled, hard to follow. Her head lolled sideways as the world blurred again.

Then the sound behind them rose higher—closer. That awful screech again, the one that felt too sharp for her ears to hold.

She would've flinched if she could.

Instead, everything dimmed again, and she slipped back under.

- - -

"Get her out—now!"

The sound cracked her eyes open. Her gaze dragged upward, lids heavy as soaked cloth, vision smeared and trembling. Red light bled across the corridor, silhouetting two armored shapes standing ahead—wide-shouldered, unmoving. Shields slammed into the ground with a boom that echoed through her bones. Spears jabbed forward, metal glinting. Something slammed into the wall past them—snarling, fast, wrong. Neither of the defenders flinched.

Another impact followed, harder this time. She felt it in her ribs.

The one carrying her paused for a heartbeat, then raised his voice—too loud for her ears.

"Don't you die on me, Bastion!"

The voice hit her wrong. Too familiar. It sounded like her dad's—gruff, clipped, that same bark he'd used when patching a busted sink or lecturing her brother for setting fire to the carpet. For a second, she wasn't there at all.

She was seven again, sitting cross-legged on a gym mat, painting pink polish onto her father's fingernails while he wrapped his hands for sparring. He'd sat still the whole time, letting her pick glitter colors, even smiling when she told him it made his punches better.

The memory shattered a second later.

Pain bloomed across her side, sharp and immediate, dragging her straight back. Her breath caught. The man carrying her tightened his grip while running. The world tilted with each step. His arm felt like steel. Blood—dark, thick—streaked his clothes, still wet and dripping. She didn't know if it was hers or his.

Everything blurred sideways. Fresh cold air slammed against her skin after the man kicked open a door and rushed outside. The second they were outside, the sounds of shouting and fighting overwhelmed her senses. Something exploded nearby—heat, sound, and white light swallowing up everything. Moments later, she saw arcs of lightning flicker through the haze, catching glimpses of figures locked in combat.

The man carrying her didn't stop.

Metal feet struck the ground—fast, then faster—pounding like a drumbeat trying to outrace death itself. A massive roar split the air behind them, followed by the crunch of something slamming into the ground behind them.

During it all, she heard a constant murmur—words being spoken over and over again.

"Stay with me, Joline."

"Dad?" she breathed, the word slipping out without permission.

The figure didn't respond. Just shouted again—urgently, with a panic that made her chest squeeze. "Stay awake—stay with me!"

She wanted to, but her limbs had gone numb. Her vision tunneled.

Through the blur, she saw it ahead. The Barrier. The edge of the red Sphere, flickering in the distance, drawing closer with each jolt of the man's stride. Everything behind it looked strange, distorted, like the world beyond had tilted out of sync.

She felt her eyelids flutter despite her trying to fight it.

'I don't want to die.'

Then the world tilted again, and she went limp, slipping back into the dark.

- - -

Joline slowly woke up, feeling like she'd been shattered into a hundred pieces.

Her mind was groggy, a dull pain pulsing through her head, down her neck, into her ribs. Her whole body felt wrapped in sandbags, too heavy and half-numb. Sound filtered in—muffled, distant, like she was underwater.

A voice rose above the rest. Familiar. Sharp.

"...You think that's good enough? You could have died…"

It cut off. Muffled arguing. Then quiet.

'Uncle Laurens?' Joline thought as she blinked. Once. Twice. Light pierced her eyelids like needles. She turned her head, or tried to. Her neck barely moved. Her arms didn't answer at all. The second she tried to take a deeper breath, pain flared across her ribs, sharp enough to black out her vision for a second.

She nearly passed out again.

Time slipped. She wasn't sure how long it took, but the next time she opened her eyes, the world stayed still long enough for her to see the ceiling—white, soft-lit, quiet hum of machines nearby. 'A hospital?' It had taken her a moment to figure that out. The slow beep of the heart monitor felt like it belonged to someone else.

She watched the machine in silence, eyes slowly adjusting to the soft glow of the monitor.

'I'm still alive?'

She gritted her teeth. Shifted slightly. Then came the sharp smell of antiseptic.

Joline turned her head again—slow this time—and caught sight of a familiar face slumped in the chair beside her.

Martin.

His hand clutched hers, tight like he was scared she'd vanish. His face looked wrong. Pale, tight around the edges, eyes rimmed with red.

"Martin?" she managed. Her voice barely more than a whisper.

His head snapped up in an instant.

"Joline?" His whole body jumped forward. "Hey—hey, take it easy. You're okay. You're safe now. Just don't try to move, alright?"

She tried to smile, yet quickly stopped when she realized just how much that hurt.

A few seconds later she tried to talk again, but there was something over her mouth. It took her a second to realize it was an oxygen mask muffling her voice. She blinked again, slower this time, realizing that the pain wasn't going anywhere.

"Just take it easy. You just got out of surgery," Martin said softly, eyes focused on nothing but her, wet with emotion.

Her mind worked like sludge as everything slowly came back to her in bits. Flashes. She saw the broken corridors she and her squad were fighting in. Heard the screams. The Sphere's strange glow shifted into red. That sound the monsters made. The way the floor had cracked beneath their feet before Luuk fell down.

She'd tried to get him out. She remembered that she had tried to pull him free and join up with the rest of her squad, who were all falling back while some were getting picked off. Then—something had hit her, knocking her out.

Her body tensed without meaning to. The memories came faster now. And with them, a weight dropped into her chest like stone.

'Luuk.'

She'd seen him sacrifice himself for her before Luuk had started to mutate inside one of those horrible things. She remembered that. Not all of it—but enough. The way he looked at her and didn't even see her anymore.

Tears slipped down her cheeks without permission.

She didn't sob. Didn't make a sound. Just let silent, broken tears slide down her cheeks while her body ached and her hand stayed clenched in her brother's.

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"Luuk's gone," she said, forcing the words out despite the pain they dragged behind them. Her jaw clenched hard enough to make her eyes water, but she didn't stop. Couldn't. The tears came faster now, not just grief but fury twisting her insides. Her teammate of years, her brother in arms… her friend. Gone. Taken by that thing.

Martin leaned in closer, his expression shifting like something had cracked beneath the surface.

"I know," he said. "We heard."

He opened his mouth again, then shut it a second later, jaw working like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came out. Like the words to comfort his sister didn't exist.

"Tell me they… closed it," Joline hissed, feeling herself grow tired again. Every syllable felt like it was dragged through her on broken glass. Her voice sounded wrong even to her own ears, warbled by pain and the mask over her mouth. "Tell me someone… anyone… closed that Sphere… slaughtered them all."

Martin nodded slowly. "The Gold Claws cleared the Sphere a few hours ago." His voice dipped lower, rougher. "They did it. It's gone."

His eyes flicked to the side, gaze narrowing, lip twitching like he was trying to keep it together. "Sis… I thought I lost you," he said. A tear slid down his cheek. "They called me before. Told me you didn't make it out."

He swallowed hard. One of his hands let go of hers, reached for the railing, gripping it until his knuckles turned white. "They told me you were dead. I—"

He stopped when he felt her fingers twitch against his face. Shaking, weak, but real. She brushed one of his tears away with the edge of her thumb.

"I'm here," she whispered, the words barely making it through the mask. Her smile trembled—more pain than comfort—but she meant it.

Martin nodded and took her hand again, slower this time. Careful. He held it between both of his like it was something fragile.

For a second, the pain eased, yet it didn't last.

She shifted, trying to sit up just a bit, and instantly regretted it. A sharp jolt tore through her shoulder—hot, deep, like someone had shoved a knife into the joint and twisted. Her breath caught. Her vision swam.

That pain brought everything back.

The weight of the monster's limb pinning her down. Her own screams. The moment she'd been impaled. Her hand crashing over and over against its head, knuckles breaking, bone grinding. Trying to stay conscious long enough to take revenge for Luuk. Trying to hurt it when someone was suddenly there, killing it for her.

"Marcus," she muttered, eyes going wide. "He was there. He killed it. He's hurt… badly… or maybe it was Dad—I don't know—but he's hurt."

Martin blinked at her, caught off guard. "Sis, dad's gone. We buried him, remember?" Martin said softly, words stained with old hurt. "As for Marcus, he's with Uncle Laurens," he said. "He's getting—"

"He's hurt," Joline said, heart thudding. Adrenaline spiked through her system, overriding everything else. "He was there with me." She started to sit up again. "His arm—a monster ripped it off… but he still fought. He saved me."

Pain screamed through her ribs and shoulder. Her whole frame trembled from the effort.

Martin caught her before she could hurt herself further. Hands firm on her shoulders, he eased her back down into the bed. "You need rest," he said, calm but with a flicker of concern in his voice. "Marcus is fine. Both arms still attached. I saw him a few hours ago. He's currently getting the scolding of his life from Uncle Laurens. And rightfully so."

Joline blinked. "But I saw him."

"I wasn't there, sis," Martin said, voice lower now. "But three Breachers pulled you out. Not Marcus. I'm not sure who those Breachers were. I just know they fought through a swarm to get you out of that Sphere and into an ambulance. Some of the doctors said it was a miracle you made it."

He smiled then, tired but genuine. "You're alright, sis. I mean… you've got a long road to recovery, yeah. But you're here. Alive. And so are the rest of us. Even that idiot Marcus. He nearly got arrested again trying to break into the Sphere to get you."

Joline stared at him. "He did? But I—"

"Uncle Laurens got there in time to stop things from getting worse. Pulled favors or something. Not that everyone wasn't busy with the whole city going to shit. Apparently, Marcus passed out after punching your squad leader who was trying to stop him."

She didn't know what to say. Nothing made sense. Everything blurred together—what she remembered, what she thought she'd seen. Her head spun.

Her eyelids grew heavy again, the weight of it settling deep in her bones. She felt herself sinking, breath slowing, body going soft against the bed.

The door opened just as her eyes began to slide shut. A doctor stepped in, a nurse close behind. Their movements looked calm, practiced. She saw Martin turn to say something to them—then back to her. His lips moved, but the sound didn't reach her. Not anymore.

Joline smiled, weak and lopsided. Then the world slipped away again.

- - -

She blinked up at the ceiling, the sterile white tiles sharp against the dark. Breathing still felt uncomfortable, but more manageable. She squinted, trying to adjust. The light had changed—no more harsh sunlight slanting through the window. Just the soft glow of the lights in the room, and the faint blue spill of evening.

Her eyes wandered—slow, clumsy— until they landed on the bar above her that patients could use to shift themselves around. Something hung from the metal. A thin chain looped around it. It moved just a little with the breeze from the cracked window.

Two rings hung from it. Simple. Worn. Her parents' wedding bands.

"I thought I lost them," she muttered. Her voice came out weak and raw. She lifted a hand, clumsily brushing the chain, her fingers tracing the edges of the rings. She felt the little ridges, the worn shapes.

"I thought the head of the house was supposed to keep them safe?" a familiar voice suddenly called out.

She turned her head, slow and unsteady, spotting her older brother. Marcus sat against the wall, legs stretched out, back to the corner, phone in hand. He stood with a soft grunt and smiled at her.

"Glad to see you're awake. You had us all worried."

She just stared at him—at his arms. Both of them.

'He really is alright.'

He looked tired, sure. A little beat up. But not wrecked. Not torn apart, like she remembered. Not missing anything.

'So he wasn't there?'

Her brow furrowed. The confusion showed all over her face.

"Marcus, what happened—"

"I'm sorry about what happened to Luuk," Marcus said, cutting her off. His voice didn't rise or waver. Just… flat. Like he'd practiced saying it. "I tried to save him too. But when we reached you, it was already too late. He's gone. I'm sorry."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Her chest seized up, breath catching too fast, too sharp. Her ribs flared in pain, but she barely noticed. She remembered his death, yet hearing the words still felt like a kick to the stomach.

'Luuk's gone. He didn't deserve that—not any of it.'

She saw it again—his face warping, body twisting into something else. The monster. The moment he died. She recalled how someone had stood between her and the creature. Not just stood—fought. A person who reminded her of Marcus, yet sounded like her father. A person who had lost a limb for her.

But Marcus stood in front of her now, both arms intact.

Her voice came out weak and layered with confusion.

"We?"

"I haven't been honest with you and the others," Marcus said. His jaw shifted, like he had to force the words out. "It's something big. Something that might change my—or even our—lives if word got out." His eyes flicked toward the door before coming back to her. He looked worried. Really worried. "It's a long story. I'll tell you all of it once you're better. I want to come clean with you, Laurens, and Martin."

He moved closer, slow and stiff, and sat down at the edge of the bed. His shoulders stayed tense, like he was bracing for something.

"The short version is… I wasn't in a coma for thirteen years. I mean, part of me was, yeah—but the rest of me was trapped inside a robotic frame," he said, not meeting her gaze. "The same robot that pulled you out of the Sphere and also the one everyone thought attacked me back in the hospital a few months ago."

Joline's eyes widened, confusion cutting through the fog in her brain.

"I know, it sounds weird saying it out loud," Marcus went on, scratching his neck. "But it's true. I've got this Ability. I can split off a piece of my mind and put it into a robot frame if it's coupled with an Orb. Think of it like making… copies of myself. Echoes, sort of. With those copies, I've been collecting Glass and Orbs. Using them to grow."

Her brow furrowed deeper. "What do you mean, grow?"

Marcus hesitated. Then a pulse of dark blue mist bled out from his skin—just a flicker of it—curling into the air before vanishing like it'd never been there. Yet even then, in those few moments, the air felt thicker from the dense mana.

Joline's eyes snapped wide at seeing the color.

'Dark blue? He's Beta+ rank?'

"I don't know why it works," Marcus said. "But I can pull power from the energy inside Orbs and Glass. And I've been doing that for a few months now. Quietly. I was trying to catch up to you."

He gave a small, nervous grin.

"Sounds dumb now, but… back then, I thought if I could at least match your Power rating, you guys couldn't treat me like some patient who just woke up and had to be protected from the world—and from himself."

Joline slowly reached up and pulled the oxygen mask away from her face. Her fingers shook a little. Her skin was pale. Her lips, dry.

Her head swirled with questions—too many to count. How had he done this without anyone noticing? How had he stayed hidden? Why hadn't he told her? How many risks had he already taken?

But only one question actually made it to her lips—the only one that really mattered in that moment.

Her arm ached as she lifted it, every inch a battle. She reached for Marcus's hand and squeezed—weak, but enough to hold him there.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Marcus tensed. He glanced down at her fingers wrapped around his, then looked back at her, eyes red. He blinked fast and let out a shaky breath.

"I'm supposed to be asking you that," he said, smiling weakly before he nodded, once. "Yeah. I'm all right."

He cupped her hand in both of his and shifted a little closer to the bed. His shoulders slouched, like he finally let go of something.

"I'm just glad you're alright. I tried to go in myself, but your squad leader stopped me with some weird Ability after I punched him." His lips twitched, like there was still a lot of anger simmering below the surface. "I'm grateful the others found you in time."

Joline managed a small smile, just a flicker. She could feel it now—the pieces coming together. The noise, the shape of that robot fighting in front of her. The voice. Her mind drifted again, back to Luuk. The way he'd mutated with that horrified expression frozen on his face.

She opened her mouth to speak, yet no words came. Just one tear, slipping free.

Marcus saw it and his expression shifted.

"Luuk?" he asked.

She nodded.

"He didn't fully turn," Marcus said quietly. "My companions made sure it was done with respect. People will find a fallen Breacher, not a slain monster."

Marcus paused, giving her time to process it all. Joline wasn't sure why, but he looked fragile at that moment.

"Your guild has Martin as your emergency contact number. They asked how you were doing and told Martin that Luuk's funeral is in a few days. Most of your guild will be there as—"

"I can't," she said.

Joline's voice cracked. Her eyes widened as more tears spilled—too fast to wipe away. Her chest heaved, her breath catching in her throat. She started mumbling something, barely holding together—words lost under the hitch of her breathing, like her throat couldn't carry them anymore.

"You don't have to go, sis," Marcus said gently. "You just focus on getting better. Me or Martin can go in your stead."

"No," Joline hissed, clenching her hand into a fist. The pain of it made her flinch, but she didn't let go. Her arm shook from the effort. "The guild… I can't… I don't want to go back. They… left us behind… Left us to bleed out and turn… I can't… I don't want to be a Breacher anymore…"

Her gaze drifted, unfocused, like she wasn't fully there—half stuck in that Sphere, half staring at the shape Luuk had twisted into.

"I owe them so much. They helped me take care of you and Martin," she whispered. "But I can't—"

She froze when she felt Marcus's hand against her cheek. It was warm. Solid. Not something imagined or fading. It grounded her, slowed her breath, just enough to pull her back into the room.

Then she looked up at him.

Her eyes were glassy, her skin pale, and bruises still colored the edge of her jaw. There was something hollow in the way she stared, like a part of her still hadn't come back with the rest.

"Don't worry about your guild, or being a Breacher," he said. "I'll deal with that."

Her mind spun. There were too many reasons it couldn't work.

"My squad leader… he wouldn't… I," she muttered softly, as she felt a wave of nausea crash into her.

She owed them a lot of credits, not to mention she had an official contract with them. And with how many they'd lost, they'd be desperate for every capable Breacher they had left. They wouldn't just let her walk away.

She opened her mouth to argue—then stopped at the sound of a knock.

The door creaked open, and Laurens stepped inside. Same warm smile, same terrible fashion sense. He held a small pot with what had to be the ugliest cactus she'd ever seen. Crooked, half-yellow, missing a few needles. It was perfect.

His smile flickered when he saw Marcus. He shot Marcus a sharp look, the kind only family could manage—annoyance mixed with concern.

"I'll leave you two be," Marcus said. He reached up and grabbed the chain and rings from above her, placing them in her hand. He gently folded her fingers around it, careful of the IV lines.

"Hold on to this for me, alright?" he said calmly before stepping back, making room for his uncle and the ugly plant.

Marcus headed for the door. Before leaving, he paused and turned around, seeing her stare at the rings in her hand. Her fingers shook—not from pain, but from something else.

"Sis?"

She glanced over at him. He stood still in the doorway, back straight and broad-shouldered. Taller than he used to seem. Mature, too. More like their dad.

"You just get better," he said. "I'll take care of the rest."

Then he stepped out.

Joline kept staring at the rings. Her thumb traced over the grooves. Her lips twitched into a faint smile, even as her chest tightened again. Part of her believed him—wanted to. But another part worried about what he really meant by "taking care of it."

Laurens sat down beside her, cactus in hand. "What did he mean by that?" he asked.

Joline didn't answer right away. She just held the rings tighter.

"I think he just told me he's going to be the head of the family," she said, still smiling.