The threesome spent some additional time firing off varying looks at one another, but that didn’t change the situation Kieran was dealing with. Part of his arm continued turning an uncanny color as the chilling darkness continued its insidious activity.

Kieran had never seen or felt anything like it before… on Earth. Xenith was filled with many fantastical marvels, but to Kieran’s knowledge, Earth wasn’t. Well… it didn’t used to be. However, what he knew about this world was changing rapidly, and the focal point, though many, boiled down to one — Zenith Online, more precisely, Xenith itself.

The chilling darkness crept up his forearm, spreading towards his elbow. Its pace was laborious, making it seem all the more grim and lethal. The most painful deaths were the slow ones, for there was no suffering when one’s death happened instantly — far faster than any human could perceive its onset.

And… considering the nature and sinister origins of Altair’s power, Kieran felt it preferred to inflict a slow death over an instant demise. That was the innate sensation; its intent, versatility, and intensity changed with the user’s capability. However, it no longer had the direction of its former owner. The power acted as if given carte blanche.

Otherwise, Kieran would have likely sensed danger stemming from Altair. It was, after all, a dangerous power even if his friend showed no intent to harm. The specifics of his Burning Ire ability were all tremendously vague and obscure, but Kieran comprehended it as anything that could be perceived as a danger to him was identified, and it was his discretion to disregard or heed the warning. Not only did Altair’s dark abilities spread, but they seeped into Kieran’s muscles with a gnawing passion.

None of the three possessed much understanding of the ability, but Kieran held out his arm in alarm still.

“Recall your ability.”

To that request, Altair grimaced. Recalling such an ability required a fine control of its essence, which neither he nor Kieran could bring to bear. These were, after all, evolutions of their former aptitudes, and they required time to master the nuance of these abnormal characteristics.

Nevertheless, Altair tried. He mustered all the focus he could conjure, and a sizeable pulsating vein was evidence of his attempts. Yet, it yielded no results.

“Sorry, bud. You’re ** out of luck in terms of me being a help. I’m resistant to the ability, but I’m not immune. And I think it’s that lacking quality that keeps it from being at my absolute beck and call.”

“This day just gets better, I tell ya. This is what I get for—”

“Oh no!”

Suddenly, Kieran buckled and crashed into the medical bed in a drunken state. A war was being waged inside his body, and the clashes were growing violent. Minutes had passed since he curiously touched Altair’s ice-cold body, yet he was suffering from acute symptoms. If this was how it was after the two energies engaged in mere skirmishes, what would the later effects look like? A mangled internal network consisting of broken blood vessels, ruptured veins and arteries… and damaged organs. Death was also not entirely off the table.

Lillian braced his arm, sliding the medical bed lower so that he could take a seat. The alarming pallor of Kieran’s skim disconcerted her, and the onset of an incredible fever caused another upset in her frazzled mental state.

Despite her deep concerns, Lillian made sure to steer clear of the infected arm, only touching parts of Kieran that weren’t warring with the chilling darkness.

“Kieran, I think you have to use your ability. I don’t think it can combat this in its dormant state. The invader carries too much momentum.”

Paying attention was becoming hard for Kieran, what with the dazed look in his eyes and the unsteady swaying of his upper body, struggling to remain upright.

Triggering his Inhuman Manifestation in this condition wasn’t the easiest of tasks. After all, it was something that required deep focus at this stage. And mustering his bearings in that way was a tall challenge to overcome.

His eyes rolled in his head like frenetic billiard balls shot across a pool table when breaking. “Stand back, Lillian.”

Suddenly, Altair stood in between the two of them, squinting into Kieran’s unfocused, disoriented eyes as if he were trying to glean that young man’s adrift mind.

Then, a sharp, crisp sound echoed throughout the medical lab like a grand thunderclap. Lillian responded with a start, whereas Kieran grabbed his cheek and howled.

The outline of a hand quickly took shape on his cheek, forming red welts.

“You son of a…” Kieran groaned, glaring with burning madness in his eyes. That madness immediately fueled an unbridled rage threatening to erupt from a fragile floodgate, weary and rotten.

Only it didn’t.

Kieran huffed, drastically changing how he breathed. The rage felt was an instinctive reaction to being targeted by pain, but he had become lucid enough to realize who had slapped him and the reason for it.

Altair may not know the true extent of Kieran’s power, but he understood his powers were rooted in feelings of madness, anger, outrage, and vengeance. All of that could be incited through bloodlust — by boiling his blood.

And there was nothing better than a swift slap to the face to really get a seething reaction… after an episode of stunned disbelief, of course.

Altair analyzed Kieran’s expression, gauging what was going on but once he realized that disoriented glossiness was on a rapid rebound, he delivered yet another swift, thunderous, and rousing slap… to the other cheek.

“A matching set for my best friend.”

Lillian inhaled sharply, covering her mouth. Somewhat due to hand prints on the fine face, she loved to glimpse from time to time, but primarily because of the demonic, devilish gleam coming from Kieran’s blackened-red eyes. It felt demented and wrathful, like the second coming of the Sin of Wrath itself. She wanted to hide and cower under the bed for fear of being targeted, but she was stricken with a fear much more primal and devastating than before. Lillian was petrified.

Kieran, meanwhile, was healing rapidly. The area of infection was shrinking quickly but still needed some assistance. Altair naturally felt some discomfort in the face of anger like this. The ire from the one known as the Myth of the End had to be dire, dreadful… and the end. He was Ruin’s fury.

However, Altair grabbed a scalpel, making a swift incision over the darkened flesh. Then, he cautioned Lillian, guiding her retreat alongside his own.

A mix of strange energies spewed from the open wound, quickly filling the air above with seemingly noxious mist. The byproduct of that deadly clash was something even Altair would give a wide berth to avoid.

Luckily, the emergency ventilation remained active, siphoning the perilous mist outside the facility. The wound on Kieran’s arm remained open until the end, suggesting slow healing was likely an effect of Altair’s abilities. If it weren’t, the incision staying open made no sense.

Once everything was expelled, a sigh of relief came a few seconds later. Kieran laid back, effete, and breathing heavily.

“I’m glad that’s over. Remind me to never turn myself into a lab rat for the sake of curiosity ever again.”

Lillian clutched her hand to her bosom, silently regarding the two before her as monsters, but she didn’t let that detract from her primary objectives.

She dove back into her previous actions, studying the information Weasel presently provided and sorting through all the biological results recently processed. Her docket was full of things to do.

After a few moments, Kieran sat up, shot Altair a venomous glare, and growled.

“I think I should repay the favor. Come let me slap you around a little bit.”

The rude awakening had to be reciprocated.