The one retrieved from The Void

A cold sweat formed on his brow as the oppressive sensation of being watched settled over him. The shadows seemed to ripple with unseen movement, and faint whispers—words he could not understand—echoed in the distance. He tightened his grip on his baton, forcing himself to focus as he pressed onward.

Finally, he stumbled upon a group of figures huddled in the flickering light of a broken overhead lamp. Among them was Yuu, one of the missing guards, standing protectively beside a trembling young man—Ken, a student who had been caught in the chaos. Yet what truly unnerved the Warden was the towering presence beside them: The Cobalt, one of the prison's most dangerous inmates.

"The Cobalt," the Warden said, his voice a sharp bark. "Explain yourself."

The hulking figure turned slowly, his chiseled features illuminated by the faint glow of the symbols on the walls. His expression was calm, almost reverent.

"I promised this boy I would protect him," The Cobalt rumbled, gesturing toward Ken.

The Warden's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the young man. Ken was pale, trembling, his clothes torn and his skin marred by fresh bruises.

"What happened to him?" the Warden demanded.

"They fought," Yuu said tersely, her voice tinged with unease.

"And this young man proved worthy of praise," The Cobalt added, his tone carrying an unsettling hint of respect.

The Warden's eyes darted between them, his unease growing. Before he could press further, the atmosphere shifted.

A sudden chill swept through the corridor, and the faint whispers from before grew louder, more distinct. Three dark, indistinct presences materialized at the edge of the flickering light, their forms flickering like shadows caught between worlds.

The Warden's heart sank as realization struck him like a hammer. He knew exactly who could be behind the growing chaos within the prison. The blood-chilling possibility that that particular inmate was free sent a ripple of unease through his usually stoic demeanor. If his suspicion was correct, then it could only mean one thing: the prisoners from the dreaded sixth floor—the most dangerous and deranged of them all—were already breaching the upper levels.

His voice, low and filled with grim certainty, broke the uneasy silence.

"The Phase," he muttered, the words heavy with foreboding.

The Phase was no ordinary prisoner. He was a living ghost of torment, a product of cruelty so profound that it had warped him into something barely recognizable as human. Once a child, he had been sold into the hands of a master whose twisted desires knew no bounds. She had demanded perfection, a being that would fulfill her every whim—a creature neither wholly male nor female, one who could bend and morph to her fantasies. To achieve this, she had mutilated him, severing his manhood and leaving him in a liminal state, a haunting echo of both genders yet truly neither. The pain and abuse he endured had shattered his psyche, leaving behind a being of pure unpredictability and rage.

As if summoned by the Warden's grim proclamation, The Phase emerged from the shadows. His appearance was disarming—almost serene. He was slender, petite, and eerily beautiful, with delicate, feminine features and long, flowing black hair that cascaded to his ankles. Yet his eyes betrayed him. They were hollow and predatory, devoid of warmth, filled only with the remnants of his suffering and the twisted satisfaction he found in inflicting it on others.

He wasn't alone.

Two other figures stepped into the flickering light, their presence turning the air into something stifling and oppressive.

The first was a hulking monstrosity that could only be described as a walking nightmare. It resembled a man, but only in the vaguest sense. Towering over three meters tall, its grotesquely overgrown muscles layered upon each other like grotesque armor, the creature was a living tank of sinew and violence. Thick, sparking cables dangled from its body, snaking around its limbs and partially covering its disfigured face, which bore no recognizable human features—just a mask of raw power and brutality. Its guttural breathing filled the corridor with an ominous rhythm.

"The Thing," the Warden whispered, his voice tinged with dread.

But it was the third figure that truly made his stomach turn. A small form stepped forward, deceptively innocent in its appearance. It looked like a child—frail, wide-eyed, and vulnerable. Yet the Warden knew better. This was no helpless juvenile but rather a monster in a child's guise: The Orphan.

During the war, The Orphan had perfected his sickening craft. He would pose as a pitiful, abandoned child, worming his way into the hearts and homes of unsuspecting victims. Once inside, he would dismantle their humanity piece by piece. First came the manipulation, sowing discord and paranoia among his benefactors. Then came the coercion—he would force them to commit unspeakable acts against each other, escalating from beatings to acts of cannibalism. His pièce de résistance was his ability to convince his victims that pain was pleasure, reducing them to self-destructive husks who delighted in devouring their own flesh. The memories of his atrocities were still whispered like ghost stories, sending shivers through even the hardest souls.

The Warden took a sharp breath, his hand tightening. Their presence here meant that the situation was far worse than he had feared. 

He met The Phase's cold, unblinking gaze, his mind racing for a plan.

"This is tiring," he muttered under his breath. "Cobalt, protect the students then."

As the three figures stood before him, a suffocating silence fell over the corridor, broken only by the faint hum of the prison's failing lights. The Warden could feel the weight of their combined malice pressing down on him, a chilling reminder that he was standing on the precipice of a nightmare.

And the nightmare was just beginning.

The Phase's lips curled into a serene, unnerving smile before his form blurred, vanishing from sight. In the next heartbeat, he reappeared behind The Warden, silent as a shadow. The air seemed to grow colder, heavy with the weight of The Phase's presence. But The Warden didn't flinch. He'd been expecting this move.

When he accepted the job, The Warden knew full well the risks of managing the prison's lower levels. He had been chosen specifically because he could handle any threat below the seventh floor. Yet, even for him, this was a tiresome ordeal. The inmates of the sixth floor weren't mere criminals—they were living weapons of chaos. Dealing with them wasn't just a task; it was a grueling chore, one he didn't have the luxury of avoiding.

As The Phase's delicate, feminine hand reached toward him, The Warden sidestepped fluidly, his movements precise and unhurried, as if he were dancing to music only he could hear. His gloved fingers twitched, almost idly, as though plucking at invisible strings. A moment later, a haunting melody echoed through the air, weaving its way through the battlefield.

For Yuu and Ken, the sound was mesmerizing—a symphony of comfort and warmth that seemed to shield their minds from the encroaching dread. But for the inmates, it was something else entirely. To The Phase, The Thing, and The Orphan, the melody was a dirge, a funeral march that seemed to seep into their bones, whispering promises of inevitable death.

The Warden wasn't just a soldier. He was a relic of a darker time, a survivor of a secret government experiment conducted during the war. Too young to enlist, he had volunteered for a radical program: a manufactured version of the ancient Unveiling Ritual. Unlike the true rituals, whose intricate runes and sacred circles were guarded by the old families, the government's version was a crude replica—a desperate attempt to channel the power of the Gods. Most participants died during the process. The Warden hadn't. He had lived, and his bond with Iris, the Bridge of Understanding, had reshaped him into something extraordinary.

His chosen medium was sound. The gloves he wore were not ordinary—they were finely tuned instruments, tools of precision that allowed him to manipulate Iris's domain of communication and language. He believed music was the purest form of expression, capable of conveying beauty or horror, peace or terror. In this battle, he wielded it like a weapon, overloading the minds of his enemies with unrelenting despair.

The Phase lunged at him again, faster this time, a blur of inhuman speed and elegance. Yet no matter how fast he moved, no matter how unpredictable his attacks, The Warden was always one step ahead, evading with almost casual ease. Each failed strike only seemed to agitate The Phase further, his delicate features twisting into a mask of frustration.

"Give up," The Warden said calmly, his voice cutting through the oppressive melody. "Save us all some time."

But The Phase was relentless. Each attack came with more ferocity, more desperation, yet The Warden remained untouchable, his movements like a master conductor guiding a deadly orchestra.

"How is he doing that?" The Cobalt muttered under his breath, his sharp eyes trying to track The Warden's seemingly effortless dodges.

"No idea," Yuu and Ken replied in unison, their awe evident.

Then, with a ground-shaking roar, The Thing moved.