London's grey sky still roared above, lightning blooming like cracks in reality, but the storm wasn't the only chaos unfolding today.

Deep within Wembley Stadium, the halls trembled under a different rhythm - boots, blades, and bloodless precision.

Sven and Isaac moved like phantoms designed for infiltration. Months of brutal training and wild experiences had sharpened them into something deadlier, leaner, faster. They had pushed their bodies, honed instincts, and levelled up their mutant abilities until they felt like different men entirely.

Not quite on the blind, sky-dancing level of Takeshi.

But close enough to matter now.

Sven slid under a security laser net without breaking stride, jacket brushing inches above the beam. Isaac phased through a reinforced steel checkpoint door like it was mist, emerging on the other side already walking, already scanning.

'A couple months ago, we'd be sweating,' Sven thought, hurling a knife at a guard tower camera and punching the stairwell door open with his boot. 'Now? This is just cardio.'

Isaac twirled his metal pole once - crude, heavy, inelegant, dented from use, but dependable. He grinned, letting the momentum roll through his wrist.

They were good. Too good.

Their skills were honed by reckless missions and botched schemes, survived alongside Kai and Nadya. They had grown from brawlers into surgical instruments of violence.

'We're basically immune to bad plans at this point,' Isaac thought, pole tapping lightly against concrete as he stepped deeper into the labyrinthine service corridors. 'We've lived through worse with Kai. But if Takeshi can't handle skyboy up there… well. We're done for.'

They were calm.

But not careless.

And Sven couldn't help but feel like everything so far felt too orchestrated.

'This shit has Nyx's name written all over it.'

He wasn't certain, but it was unnerving.

Nothing Nyx did was simple.

But all he could do now was continue cautiously.

They cleared another wave of guards - low-tier mutants mostly, grunts with twitchier reflexes or weak elemental quirks, nothing coordinated. Sven flickered past them with bursts of speed - slashing guns out of hands, nicking tendons, dropping bodies without pausing.

Isaac mirrored the violence in his own way - phasing the pole into limbs before snapping it solid, punching clean holes in legs and arms without targeting hearts or throats.

Not graceful.

But efficient.

They were unstoppable.

And they knew it.

The stadium felt like a maze, but the duo were in a flow state.

Sven kicked open another corridor gate.

Isaac simply walked through the wall beside it.

No effort wasted.

No motion wasted.

Their progress was terrifyingly smooth - like watching water pour downhill with a grudge.

Then Isaac stopped mid-stride.

He tilted his head upward.

'This is… a bit too easy, innit?' he thought, starting to feel the same unease that his more experienced counterpart was feeling.

He blinked once, drawing on Phased Vision - the technique he only used sparingly. It let him see through any physical matter he consciously removed from his sight, like layered X-rays stacked over reality.

He hated using it too much. It made him dizzy and strained his eyes massively. It felt like he was being stabbed in the head through his eyeballs.

But right now?

It was worth it.

Because there she was.

Seraphina.

Standing alone in a room two floors above them, framed in a glowing isolation chamber that looked like a set piece designed by a man who enjoyed dramatic irony.

Victory was in sight.

'Bloody hell,' Isaac thought, exhaling. 'She's right there.'

"She's directly above us," Isaac said aloud, pole lowering slightly.

Sven wiped his blade on his trouser leg and looked up. "Top floor?"

Isaac nodded.

"Perfect."

They moved again.

Because hesitation was death.

And momentum was life.

Isaac extended his hand. "Dart gun."

Sven tossed it over without a question. "You got this... and don't hog her to yourself!"

Isaac didn't answer. He was already fading upward - phasing through the ceiling in a ripple of distortion that made the air taste metallic. The concrete above shimmered as he passed through it like a ghost swimming upward through a lake.

Sven immediately turned toward the stairs.

Isaac could've waited. Could've been phased along for a ride. But he had phased enough today - his body was a half-used resource bar already blinking yellow. Phasing Sven with him might make him black out before they reached her.

He was just enduring for the sake of the objective.

And Sven knew it - he had even spotted Isaac secretly consuming one of the dull grey pills Elara had prepared for him if he was going to overuse his ability.

He thought he was slick, but Sven saw it.

As such, he burst towards the nearest stairwell to follow after him and get this whole mission over with already.

That's when he saw something that caused him to curse under his breath.

Two unmistakable silhouettes stood waiting at the bottom of the stairwell, almost as if waiting for him.

Hunched. Twisted. Disgusting.

Brothers.

An obstacle from the past.

It was the same two mutants he'd mentioned to Kai months ago as examples of nasty abilities - one who could shoot acid from his pores, the other whose breath carried a poisonous miasma that melted lungs like ice in fire.

He'd never explained the story then.

He just mentioned them randomly in passing.

Maybe because he was ashamed.

Maybe because it was long.

Maybe because he knew it would bite him eventually.

And oh, how it bit now.

Their spines were bent like broken question marks, backs warped into permanent hunches, skin grey and pitted, clothes tattered and unwashed. Hair patchy, greasy, clinging to their skulls in uneven tufts like dead moss on stone.

Ugly on all accounts.

Unkempt hunchbacks whose very existence made mirrors crack in sympathy.

Sven's face twitched once.

Then he sighed.

Then he grinned.

Then he remembered.

'Oh yeah,' he thought. 'Them.'

He recalled the job. A big commission. Two weeks of infiltration, planning, sweat, trust, teamwork, danger. He'd stolen the entire pay at the end - not his proudest moment, but hey. Money comes and goes. No honour among thieves and all that.

The brothers had been furious.

But not for the pay.

For the trust.

Because during those two weeks?

Sven had slept with both of their wives.

At the same time.

It was a night to remember.

And his smile widened just thinking about it.

Two wives throwing themselves at him, nothing like their disgusting husbands. Who was he to say no? It was both of them at once. A bloody buffet of poor decisions and great memories.

Sven snapped out of his journey to the past.

Then the corridor lights dimmed, and his smile snapped off like a blade hitting stone.

Because the brothers weren't grinning.

They were seething.

Their eyes promised revenge beyond money.

Their posture promised revenge beyond fists.

Their presence promised revenge beyond sanity.

"Man was right, this suka is here," one of them rasped, voice like corroded metal.

"Now we pay him back," the other hissed, exhaling a cloud that shimmered faint green against the emergency lights.

Sven groaned inwardly.

'I have to fight these ugly fuckers while Isaac gets to fight Seraphina up close. I bet she's even hotter in person. This is so unfair.'

But his eyes stayed serious.

Rarely serious.

Dangerously serious.

Because unfair or not?

He knew their capabilities.

He knew their skill.

He knew their motivation.

And he knew this corridor was now a coffin lid waiting to fall.

Then the shutters dropped.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Reinforced metal barriers slammed down behind him, sealing the stairwell and the corridor into one long, singular lane. No exits. No vents. No side doors. No clever bypass.

Just one corridor.

Two brothers.

One unfinished job.

'Now I definitely have to face them,' Sven thought.

He could've burst out before the shutters sealed fully.

Could've run.

Could've dodged.

Could've avoided.

But then they'd be obstacles on the way back.

And obstacles later were thorns later.

And thorns later were deaths later.

And deaths later were unacceptable right now.

"Fuck my luck and fuck Nyx," Sven mumbled to himself.

This just confirmed to him that it was that bastard. It also made him worry for his ghost-like companion who had gone ahead.

However, he had his own problems to deal with as the brothers glared at him.

'Fine,' he thought. 'Let's dance, you ugly bastards.'

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