Chapter 17 – Arena Of Echoes

The lights in Dorm-7 buzzed faintly. Synthetic morning, preloaded and precise, filtered through the overhead panels like someone simulating sunrise from memory rather than experience.

Max stood at the kitchenette counter, staring at a cup of instant coffee like it had personally wronged him.

It hadn’t dissolved properly. Just floated there, half-hearted.

“God,” Alyssa muttered from the couch, “how is it this place can simulate psychic resonance down to the molecule, but the coffee tastes like burnt regret?”

Max didn’t answer.

She glanced at him. His eyes were dark. Not from lack of sleep – he hadn’t slept in two days but from something deeper. The kind of exhaustion that didn’t blink. The kind that watched back.

Chloe sat at the far end of the room, cross-legged in mid-air. Not floating—just slightly out of sync. Her aura shimmered subtly, bending the light wrong. She didn’t notice.

Dan stood behind her, arms folded, studying the flickering around her outline.

“You’re drifting again,” he said gently.

Chloe blinked. Her body jerked once – like a skipped frame in a video – and snapped back into full solidity. She shook her head slowly.

“I didn’t feel it,” she murmured.

“That’s what worries me.”

Victor entered quietly, barefoot as always. Shirt half-buttoned, hair still wet from the shower. He carried a training towel over one shoulder and a worn paperback in his other hand – The Art of War, dog-eared and marked up like a diary.

He tossed it onto the table. “Still relevant.”

Max didn’t look up. “Sun Tzu didn’t write about demons.”

Victor shrugged. “He wrote about people. Same thing.”

He sat near the others, the floor groaning faintly beneath his weight. Alyssa glanced down.

“D’you crack another tile?” she asked.

Victor just grunted.

Dan moved to the kitchenette, picked up Max’s untouched mug, and gave it a sniff. Winced. “You could interrogate someone with this.”

Max didn’t respond.

Dan leaned against the counter beside him. “You okay?”

Max’s eyes stayed locked on the mug. Then, finally: “No.”

Honest. Flat.

Silence fell.

Chloe broke it softly. “You didn’t sleep again.”

Max shook his head.

“Why?”

“My dreams are louder than this place.”

Victor glanced toward the hall. “That’s not hard.”

Alyssa stood, stretched, and cracked her neck. “Weird quiet. Like everything’s padded.”

“No echoes,” Chloe added. “Like the space eats sound.”

Dan took a sip from his own mug. “That’s because the walls are soul-insulated. Designed to dampen resonance and disorientation. Same tech they use in containment zones.”

Max finally turned. “We’re the ones being contained.”

Nobody disagreed.

Victor dropped onto the couch beside Chloe and stared at the ceiling. “It’s a coffin with amenities.”

Max crossed the room, sat in the remaining chair, and set the cold coffee down. His hand twitched once. The tremor again – sharper now. The veins around his wrist glowed faint gold before fading.

Dan saw it.

“You’re burning again.”

Max nodded.

“You can’t keep suppressing it like this,” he said.

“I can’t afford to let it out,” he replied.

Victor snorted. “Yeah, well, it’s not gonna ask permission.”

Dan studied him. “You’re changing.”

Max leaned back, eyes closed. “So is everything.”

A pause.

Alyssa plopped onto the ground with a heavy sigh. “So, what now? We wait until Grimm decides to dissect us? Or do we go punch a wall until Kane appears in a puff of cryptic smoke?”

“Training’s soon,” Max said. “He’ll come.”

Chloe stood, still slightly transparent around the edges. “Then we should be ready.”

Victor stood too. “Define ready.”

Max opened his eyes.

“Ready means this time,” he said quietly, “no one dies.”

And with that, the team began preparing.

Quiet. Focused. Fractured but not broken.

Above them, the security feed logged each movement. Every soul-pattern shimmered faintly across a dozen monitors. And just outside the door, unseen – two white cloaks lingered in the hall.

Watching. Logging.

Waiting.

…………………

The arena had changed again.

No one told them. No alarms. No announcements. But they all felt it the moment they stepped in. The floor had teeth now – spires of obsidian jutting up from the once-smooth surface like fossilized blades. The dome was darker, more alive. Less like a training ground, more like a predator’s ribcage.

Max moved to the centre first, flanked by the others. Behind them, the stone doors sealed shut with a whisper. No escape. Only Kane’s voice – smirking, calm – echoed from the ceiling.

“I’ve got a surprise for you today. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The floor shifted. Patterns spiralled outward in jagged lines, forming five glowing rings. One beneath each of them.

“Brace,” Max said. Too late.

The obsidian cracked open.

From each circle, a shape rose – humanoid, imperfect. Raw soul-energy fused into mockeries of the team. Same size. Same stance. Same eyes. Five constructs. No mouths. Just faces made of reflective void.

And Max understood instantly.

“They’re us,” he muttered.

His copy tilted its head. So did the others. Mirroring.

A heartbeat passed.

Then they attacked.

Victor’s was first.

His simulacrum lunged low – jagged claws extended, eyes gleaming like hungry stars. It moved like a beast, not a man – fast, erratic, brutal. But Victor didn’t flinch. He’d seen worse in mirrors.

He shifted mid-step, spine cracking as the Chimera uncoiled through his muscles. Fur tore through skin. His hands became claws. He met the thing mid-charge, catching its strike in one massive arm.

“You’re not me,” he growled. “You’re the part I already buried.”

He drove his forehead into its skull – once, twice – then lifted the creature bodily and threw it across the arena. It smashed into a pillar, staggered, snarled but Victor was already moving. He didn’t overpower it.

He understood it.

When it lunged again, he let it come – then stepped aside, turned its weight against itself, and snapped its neck with a clean twist.

One down.

Alyssa was already swinging.

Her doppelgänger wasn’t subtle – blue veins glowing, armoured fists smashing into the earth with every step. It hit like a seismic event, splitting the obsidian floor beneath it. Alyssa didn’t dodge.

She met it.

The impact rattled the dome. Both Alyssas staggered, then roared at the same time – twins of destruction. But while the construct fought with blind force, Alyssa fought with memory. With Jack’s face burned into her mind. With Chloe at her back.

She ducked under a punch, shoulder-checked the thing into a wall, and grabbed it by the neck.

“You don’t get to be me,” she snarled. “You didn’t earn it.”

Then she suplexed it into the ground hard enough to crack the obsidian.

Two down.

Dan’s match wasn’t physical.

His construct didn’t attack. It just stood there – smiling, calm. Wearing his face, his aura, his quiet grief. Around them, the air grew warm, soothing. Dangerous.

Dan blinked. The urge to sit, to stop, to rest tugged at him.

“Clever,” he muttered. “Fake peace.”

He closed his eyes, focused inward. Let his heartbeat slow. The golden light around him pulsed once, then brightened – not in rage, but clarity.

The fake Dan tried to step forward.

Dan raised a hand, palm glowing. “No.”

The word rang like a bell.

The clone flinched. Then cracked. Splintered like glass under sunlight.

It didn’t scream. It just ceased.

Three down.

Chloe’s was harder.

Her echo didn’t attack. It mirrored. Every step Chloe took, it mimicked. Every flicker of phase energy, it copied – half a second behind. They circled each other in silence, ghost-light trailing behind them.

She tried to vanish.

It did too.

She split her form.

So did it.

But something was wrong. Its timing wasn’t perfect. Its rhythm was off. Chloe realized – it wasn’t copying her. It was copying who she used to be.

And she wasn’t that girl anymore.

She stood still.

The echo froze.

Then she flickered – split three ways, surrounded it, and reappeared behind it in solid form.

Her voice was almost a whisper.

“Catch up.”

She stepped through it. The echo unravelled.

Four down.

Only Max remained.

His simulacrum stood waiting. Silent. Still. No aura. No threat posture. Just… Max.

He stared into its eyes and saw no demon.

No fire.

Just reflection.

The clone lifted its hand. Soulfire danced across its fingers – golden flame. Max didn’t summon anything in return. He didn’t need to. The fire was already there. Always.

He walked forward slowly.

The simulacrum did the same.

No banter. No theatrics.

Just inevitability.

They clashed once.

And the world cracked.

Flames erupted between them, swirling like a storm. Max pushed forward, teeth clenched. The construct fought with precision – his own instincts turned against him. He countered every strike with one of his own, burned every move into muscle memory as it happened.

And then he stepped through the fire.

Grabbed the simulacrum’s arm.

“You’re just my fear.”

The flames surged.

The clone ignited – consumed from the inside out.

Ash fell.

Five down.

The arena returned to silence.

The fangs receded. The dome returned to its smooth obsidian calm. The five stood in the centre, panting, sweat-soaked, eyes still glowing.

Above, Kane leaned forward.

“Not bad,” he called down.

Max didn’t respond.

He just looked at the others.

And saw what they’d become.

Not kids.

Not survivors.

Weapons. Warriors.

People with something worth protecting – and the scars to prove it.

He nodded once.

“Next time,” he said quietly, “we fight something real.”

…………………

The lounge wasn’t really a lounge. More like a leftover corner of the Institute someone had tossed two beanbags into and declared finished. The vending machine buzzed in the corner, offering energy drinks with names like SoulFuel and Redemption Zero. One of the lights flickered lazily overhead.

Chloe sat curled up in a chair, legs tucked under her, quietly reading a book that looked suspiciously like Dr. Grimm had authored it himself. Alyssa was sprawled on the floor, back against the wall, chewing on a protein bar like it had personally offended her.

Dan stepped in, carrying two drinks and a snack bar. “Didn’t know if you were Team Caffeine or Team Sugar Crash, so I brought both.”

Chloe looked up and smiled softly. “Thank you. I’ll gamble on caffeine.”

Alyssa took hers without comment, tearing the bar open like she was expecting it to attack.

Dan sat down between them with a groan. “Remind me never to spar with Victor again. I think he cracked something spiritual.”

“Was it your ego?” Alyssa asked, deadpan.

“Most likely.” Dan took a sip. “So. I spoke to Admin this morning. Thought you’d want to know – your parents have been contacted.”

Both girls froze for a second.

Chloe was the first to find her voice. “What? When?”

“This week. Institute reached out – official channels, all the bells and whistles. Apparently, your folks didn’t even know you’d left Singapore.”

Alyssa raised an eyebrow. “No shit.”

“They were… shocked,” Dan admitted. “And a little freaked out at first. But once the Institute explained the situation – academic scholarship, accelerated studies, elite mentorship track, full tuition and living expenses—they were thrilled. I mean, thrilled.”

Chloe let out a slow breath. “They’re not mad?”

“They thought you’d both been recruited by some underground cult. This was actually a relief.”

Alyssa snorted. “We kind of were.”

Dan shrugged. “Yeah, but now it’s an accredited cult. With dormitories.”

Chloe leaned forward. “Will we get to talk to them?”

“Better,” Dan said, smiling. “They’re flying out next week. Institute’s paying for it. Business class. Whole welcome tour. They’ll be here for three days.”

Alyssa blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. I read the itinerary. There’s even a guaranteed-demon-safe family lounge. Grimm wants to make a good impression.”

Chloe closed her book slowly. Her hands trembled a little, but not from fear.

Alyssa looked away, muttering. “Might have to clean up this dump then.”

Dan chuckled. “I think they’ll just be happy you’re okay. And glowing.”

There was a long pause.

Then Chloe smiled. “Thank you, Dan.”

He waved her off. “Don’t thank me. Thank Grimm’s PR team. I just asked the questions.”

“You asked, though,” Alyssa said. Her voice was quiet now. Real. “That counts.”

Dan smiled, leaned back, and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Sometimes,” he said, “it’s the small good things that keep you balanced when the big bad ones start showing teeth.”

No one replied, but no one needed to.

The flickering light above finally went still.

And for the first time in a while, the twins felt seen. Grounded.

Not just powered.

Home didn’t feel so far away anymore.

…………………

The training arena was empty now. The lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the obsidian floor. Scorch marks and gouges from earlier sessions still scarred the surface, but there was a strange kind of peace in the aftermath.

Max sat alone on the lowest bench of the observation tier, elbows on his knees, head bowed. Not in pain. Just… quiet. Still.

Dan approached from behind and didn’t say anything at first. He just sat down beside him.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then Dan asked, “You ever get tired of being the strong one?”

Max snorted, but it wasn’t bitter. “You mean physically? Or metaphorically?”

Dan shrugged. “Either.”

Max leaned back slightly. “Yeah. Every day.”

Dan nodded, watching the flicker of emergency lights across the far wall.

“You don’t have to be.”

Max glanced at him.

“I mean it,” Dan said. “You don’t have to carry the whole damn weight just because you started the fire.”

Max sighed. “I don’t think I can let it go.”

“Then don’t. Just… share it.”

They fell into silence again.

Dan leaned back, letting his head rest against the wall. “Alyssa and Chloe are okay. Better than okay, actually. You’d be proud of them.”

“I am,” Max said. “I just… don’t know what kind of future I handed them.”

Dan smiled, eyes still closed. “One where they can fight back. Where they’re not waiting for someone else to save them.”

Max turned that over. Let it settle.

Dan opened his eyes and looked over. “You ever think this is what we were meant to do?”

Max raised an eyebrow.

“Not all the demons and death,” Dan clarified. “I mean… this. Us. Here. Together. Being more than we thought we could be.”

Max looked down at his hands. The trembling had eased. For now.

“I used to think the worst thing that ever happened to me was surviving that fire,” he said. “Losing April. Watching Liz slip away. I kept thinking… if I’d just moved faster… if I’d just made a different call…”

He trailed off.

Dan didn’t press. Just waited.

Max exhaled. “But lately? I’ve been thinking maybe I survived for a reason.”

Dan smiled. “Yeah. To be an emotionally constipated superhuman with martyr issues.”

Max laughed – genuinely, for the first time in days. “Says the glowing monk with the world's calmest heart rate.”

Dan leaned forward. “Seriously, Max. You’re doing good. Not perfect. Not painless. But good. And you’ve got us. That’s not nothing.”

Max looked at him for a long time. “Thanks, Dan.”

“No problem.” Dan stood, stretching. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we probably have to dodge another ‘training exercise’ that looks suspiciously like Grimm trying to make us kill each other.”

Max grunted. “If he sends another one of those buzzsaw drones at Alyssa, I’m not stopping her from throwing it through the ceiling.”

Dan chuckled. “Deal.”

He walked away, steps light, leaving Max alone again.

But not empty.

Not this time.

Max looked up at the training dome’s black ceiling. No stars. No sky. But he still felt something like light inside him.

Just for a moment.

He breathed.

And the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

…………………

Sydney, Australia

The sun was up. The world was still. But nothing felt alive.

The street was quiet – rows of parked cars, half-shuttered shops, the midday haze blurring the edges of the city like a smudge on glass. Pedestrians passed in ones and twos. No one looked up. No one noticed.

That was the beauty of camouflage.

Kimaris stood in the alley behind a convenience store, blending with the wall like a shadow given breath. Not cloaked. Not glamoured. Just unremembered. People passed by and simply forgot him.

It was a useful trick. Especially when hunting.

He watched the man across the street. Mid-forties. Thin build. Former logistics officer. Worked in emergency planning for the Sydney City Council now. No spouse. Estranged daughter. A face that screamed “background character.”

But not to Kimaris.

This man – Kenneth Lai – was one of the last people to sign off on the Jaeger family relocation after the fire. A bureaucratic loose end. One who still had access to archived emergency case files.

Kimaris stepped forward.

No noise. No weight.

The world didn’t react to his presence.

Kenneth walked toward the train station. A digital watch beeped on his wrist. He looked down. That was the opening.

Kimaris moved.

One moment he was behind the alley dumpster.

The next – he was walking beside Kenneth.

“Nice day,” Kimaris said conversationally.

Kenneth blinked. “Sorry?”

Kimaris smiled without warmth. “I said, nice day.”

Kenneth nodded slowly, confused. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

They walked in silence for five steps. Kimaris matched his gait perfectly.

“Do you remember a name?” he asked. “Maxwell Jaeger.”

Kenneth slowed. His brow furrowed.

“Years ago,” Kimaris added helpfully. “Fire incident. Displacement file. Code 41-C.”

Kenneth frowned. “I don’t… I mean, I think I processed something like that once. A long time ago.”

He stopped walking.

That was his mistake.

Kimaris smiled wider. “Thank you.”

Kenneth didn’t have time to scream.

The alley took him. Not the darkness – the alley. The shadows peeled open like a ribcage and folded him inside, vanishing with a whisper of tearing silk. No witnesses. No blood. Just absence.

Kimaris stepped out of the alley seconds later, adjusting the cuff of his suit.

The air was warmer now.

He looked up at the sky, eyes narrowing.

Max Jaeger was buried. Hidden in a place that didn’t appear on any map. His soul signature was cloaked. Nullified.

But his history?

Still traceable.

Still bleeding.

Kimaris stepped out into the night air. The alley behind Jaeger & Campbell Fire Safety Training Services was empty now, stripped of everything except the scent of fear and smoke.

In his left hand, he carried Ethan Campbell.

The man dangled, unconscious but alive – barely. His body slumped like broken scaffolding, bruised and burned in places that hadn’t even touched flame. Blood dripped from his lip in a slow, steady rhythm. One of his arms was twisted unnaturally behind his back.

Kimaris showed no effort. No strain.

He walked slowly, deliberately, toward the far end of the street where shadows gathered like obedient dogs.

“Keep hiding, Max Jaeger,” he whispered.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

“I’ll peel the world open to find you.”

He paused near a streetlamp. The light flickered – then died completely.

He looked down at Ethan’s battered frame.

“You were important to him once. That’s enough.”

No anger. No theatrics. Just cold intent.

“I will unravel you slowly. Thought by thought. Memory by memory. Until your screams echo in his spine.”

Kimaris continued west.

Behind him, the workshop wall shimmered faintly – like a veil of glass rippling after impact. No alarm. No witness. Just the hush of something unspeakable leaving its mark.

The Hunt was underway.