Chapter 17 – Injection (Part 3)
Emilio swaggered up to Zane, his usual grin plastered across his face like a mask of mockery. He threw an arm over Zane's shoulder, leaning in close to whisper, "Didn't expect you to have the guts to show up after yesterday. You really don't know when to give up, huh?"
Zane stood still, facing forward, his expression unreadable. Emilio's presence grated on him like a blade against stone, but he refused to flinch. He didn't need to respond. Not yet.
The memories of yesterday's words echoed through his head, sharpening his resolve. There would come a day when Emilio's laughter would fade—when Zane's promise would no longer be just a whisper in the dark.
'Just wait… a little longer,' he thought, finally glancing Emilio's way with a flick of his eyes.
Then he jerked his shoulder, throwing the boy's arm off.
"Don't touch me," Zane said flatly. "You smell like shit."
"...What did you say?" Emilio blinked, stunned. "You little—"
His hand twitched toward Zane, fist clenching, but he stopped mid-motion. Something—no, someone—was watching.
The weight of a cold, invisible pressure slammed down on Emilio's back like a slab of iron. His eyes widened, and he turned, heart stammering.
One of the Dimensional Knights, standing a short distance away, was staring at him. Not moving. Just watching. But the threat in his gaze was unmistakable.
Emilio froze. His instincts screamed at him to back off. Picking a fight here—especially in front of a Knight—was suicide, not just for the moment, but for his entire future.
'Damn it… If I make a scene now, I'll ruin everything.' He swallowed his pride like poison and stepped back, eyes narrowed to thin slits as he glared daggers at Zane.
Zane didn't even look back. He stepped forward, his expression calm, eyes focused. One student left before him.
His breath slowed. One more step. One more breath.
'Alright… It's almost time.'
He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift. A face came to him—warm, kind, and now long gone.
'Mother… the time has come. I know you didn't want this for me, but I'm doing it for you, too. I will find them—no matter where they hide, no matter which realm they crawl into. They won't escape me. Not anymore. So, be with me, will you?'
"Next!" a voice barked.
Zane's eyes snapped open. He stepped forward without hesitation.
The door creaked open, revealing the room within. It was the same one he'd visited the day before, but it felt completely different now.
There were four guards—one in each corner—each standing at silent attention, their presence making the air feel heavier. Fiora sat in the same chair as yesterday, calm and composed, though her eyes flickered with something else this time—something sharper. Calculating.
The final figure in the room stood out even more. A man dressed in a pristine white coat that gleamed under the overhead lights. It looked like a hybrid between a lab coat and a suit of armor, sleek and reinforced, exuding a quiet authority. He had glasses on and a very smart look in his eyes. Zane figured that he was the one who will give him the injection.
"Welcome," Fiora said with a faint nod, her voice smooth as always. "Take a seat. The injection will be prepared immediately."
Zane nodded, his footsteps echoing in the stillness as he approached the strange chair. It resembled something out of a medical facility—or a torture room. Thick restraints were attached to the armrests and legs.
He sat down, eyeing the straps warily.
"Is this really necessary?" he asked.
"Yes," Fiora replied, tone cool. "We need to secure you in case of... any unforeseen reactions. It's standard protocol. Nothing to worry about."
Two knights stepped forward without delay and began strapping him in. Thick black belts tightened around his wrists, ankles, and torso with a harsh snap. Zane instinctively tugged at one with his hand, but it didn't budge. Not even a little.
'Definitely not ordinary leather,' he thought, inspecting the texture. 'Something stronger. Reinforced, maybe even enchanted.'
His gaze shifted as the man in the white coat moved to a nearby table. A metal suitcase lay atop it, sleek and humming faintly.
With a practiced motion, the man opened it.
A rush of cold steam hissed outward.
Nestled in black cushioning was a small, glass-like capsule no longer than a finger. Inside, neon-purple liquid swirled slowly, glowing faintly like a living thing. It pulsed softly, rhythmically, as if breathing.
Zane couldn't take his eyes off it.
His heartbeat quickened.
There was no sound, no movement—only the soft thrum in his chest as something deep within him responded to the sight of the liquid.
'That's it… That's the injection.'
A lifetime of stories, whispers, and rumors condensed into this single moment. That capsule held everything he'd worked toward, everything he wanted—a future, a path, power.
The man carefully removed the capsule and walked over, holding it delicately like a sacred artifact.
"Now, Zane," he began, his voice calm and clinical, "I need you to stay still and relaxed during the process. You'll feel a sting at first, but it'll pass quickly."
"Where are you injecting it?" Zane asked, eyeing the liquid warily.
"Solar plexus. It's the fastest path to your dormant core."
Zane frowned slightly. 'That's close to the heart and lungs… sounds risky. But if everyone else did it…'
"I understand," he said finally. "I'll stay calm."
"Good. Now close your eyes."
Zane complied. The world went dark, his breathing steady. His heartbeat, however, thudded louder in his ears.
He felt a hand on his chest, firm and methodical. A few taps, locating the spot.
Then—
Swish.
"Ghh—!" A sharp stab punched into his chest, white-hot for a moment.
"Don't move," the man instructed firmly.
Zane clenched his teeth but stayed still.
Then, just as suddenly as the pain had arrived, a cold sensation washed over him—spreading from the point of injection like frost on skin. It slithered through his body, down his ribs, up into his throat, before vanishing into a numb quiet. Everything happened in a split second.
He opened his eyes. Nothing. No glow, no warmth, no… anything.
"Are we… done?" he asked.
"Yes. But now we wait," the man said, rising. "Two minutes. If nothing happens, then your body has rejected the injection. That means you are not compatible."
"I see…" Zane muttered, looking down at his chest. 'So far… nothing. No pain. No glow. No change.'
For the first time since entering the room, a flicker of worry crept into his chest. He scanned his body for anything—heat, pressure, a spark—but everything felt normal. Too normal.
The silence thickened. All eyes were on him.
Fiora watched him carefully, arms crossed, unreadable. 'Let's see if what happened yesterday was just a funny coincidence.'
'Come on…' he thought. 'Something. Anything.'
Time dragged on. Seconds stretched like hours. Zane's heart pounded now—not from fear, but from dread. A hollow pit opened in his gut.
'Please… please let it work.'
He clenched his fists, praying for a reaction, a sign, a tremor—anything.
And then… the second minute ticked over.
Nothing.
No light. No sensation. Just silence.
The man glanced at the clock, then at Zane. He exhaled softly.
"…Nothing," he confirmed. "I'm sorry, boy. Release him."
The straps clicked.
Zane didn't move.
He couldn't.
His mind was still frozen on the one word that echoed louder than anything else in the room.
Nothing.