Streets of Ravetham

Adrian stood in the dimly lit underground lab, surrounded by the eerie glow of life pods. The quiet hum of machines filled the air, but it wasn’t the sterile calm of a hospital. No, this was darker, twisted—an air of something forbidden and dangerous hung heavy, seeping into the cracks of the tiled walls. This was where science met the streets, where a boy too young to be this powerful had just perfected his most lethal creation.

Five pods lined the room, each containing a clone of Sister Georgina. The glass fogged from the inside as the clones began to stir. Adrian, a boy who dressed sharp even when dabbling in the macabre, stood still in the center, arms crossed, his sharp black suit immaculate. A red handkerchief poked out of his breast pocket, and his icy blue eyes gleamed behind dark, almost predatory slits. He looked barely ten, but the cold smile on his face told another story—a story of someone who had seen too much, done too much, and was ready to do even more.

Each of the Sister Georgina clones stirred, slowly awakening from their slumber. Their chests—beneath the nun outfits Adrian had so delicately dressed them in—rose and fell with the first gasps of consciousness. They blinked, eyes wide with shock as their minds synced up, taking in their new existence.

Then, like a chorus from hell itself, they all spoke in unison:

“Fucked.”

Adrian's smile widened at the sound. It was a cold smile, the kind that doesn’t touch the eyes. He moved closer, the soft sound of his polished shoes on the floor breaking the silence. With a low, almost melodic whistle, he caught their attention, all five of them locking eyes with him like lambs staring down a wolf in disguise.

“Ladies,” he began, voice smooth and casual, a contrast to the grim reality he was presenting. “Your first revival was free... but this one? Not so much.”

The clones, now fully aware, shot each other uneasy glances. They all looked the same—identical in every way, yet each carried a subtle air of individuality. Adrian continued, pacing slowly around the room, his voice taking on a business-like tone, like he was explaining the terms of a deal rather than controlling five living weapons.

“You’re all in my debt now,” he said, turning to face them with a smirk. “You owe me fifty million dollars. Five clones... ten million each. You can’t run from it, can’t hide. I’ve made sure of that.”

He tapped his chest lightly with one gloved hand, eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “You see, I’ve placed a little insurance policy inside each of you. A bomb. Right here—” He pointed to the center of his own chest. “Refuse me, disobey me, try anything funny, and... boom.”

The clones stood frozen, their hands instinctively covering their chests as they realized what he meant. The cold steel of the bombs embedded within their flesh felt heavier than any weapon they’d ever carried.

“And what do I want from you? Simple.” Adrian’s smile faded, his tone dropping into something more serious. “I want you to capture or eliminate Ennuy Null of the Umbrus Pact. That’s it. Do that, and the debt? Gone.”

Sister Georgina—or rather, all of the Sister Georginas—remained silent. A moment passed, heavy with tension. They looked at each other, then back to Adrian, trying to process the gravity of the situation.

“If you die in the process,” Adrian added, shrugging as though it was nothing, “well, I’ll still cover the cost of any collateral damage. So don’t worry too much. You’re disposable... but valuable.”

He watched their reactions, the mixture of dread and fury flickering in their eyes. But Adrian wasn’t finished. No, there was always more with him, always another twist.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “How could there be five of you? How can all of you be... the original Sister Georgina?” He let the question hang in the air, like a noose waiting to tighten.

The clones looked uneasy, confusion settling in.

“Well, I’ve modified you,” Adrian explained with a nonchalant wave. “Took some liberties. You’re all the real Sister Georgina. You share her memories, her essence... but I’ve unlocked something new inside of you.”

He paused, letting the moment stretch, watching the horror grow on their faces.

“I’ve tampered with your meta-abilities. Your cells, your bones—enhanced with mithril, a light but durable metal. And more importantly, I’ve unlocked a little gift. You can cause localized explosions just by touching inanimate objects.”

He smirked, watching their eyes widen as they processed what that meant.

“Daggers, bullets, guns... you touch them, pump a little mana into them, toss them—five seconds later, they blow up. Your little personal touch of destruction.”

One of the Georgina clones, the one who seemed most in control, bit her lip as she glared at Adrian. Her hands twitched as if wanting to reach for something, but then, she relaxed, forcing herself to breathe slowly.

Sister Georgina—the one who spoke for them all—looked down at her hands. The potential for destruction trembled just beneath her skin, and she didn’t know if it was a gift or a curse. Either way, she knew she was trapped. For now.

Her lips moved silently in a prayer, her voice soft but trembling with desperation. “Yeshu... forgive me for what I’ve become. Forgive me for what I must do. The boy... he knows not what he does.”

Adrian tilted his head, watching her closely. His smirk returned.

“So, Sister,” he said, his voice cutting through her prayer like a blade, “are you in?”

Sister Georgina, after a long, tense moment, looked up. Her gaze met Adrian’s, the fury, fear, and resignation all swirling in her eyes. Slowly, she nodded, her voice cold and steady as she answered.

“I’m in.”

The other clones, silent but equally resigned, nodded too. They had no choice. They were bound by Adrian’s wicked hand, their fates tied to the boy who had reshaped their lives.

Adrian clapped his hands once, smiling brightly as though it was just another business transaction. “Good. Now, go out there and show Ennuy Null what true destruction looks like. Make it messy... I like messy.”

And so it begins.

The gym had that stale, musty scent of old sweat and varnished wood—like a battleground long past its prime but still fighting. Sneakers squeaked across the polished floor, echoing through the hollow space, where dim, flickering lights buzzed overhead. Every bounce of the ball felt like a ticking clock, counting down to the next jab, the next insult.

Selene leaned against the metal railing of the bleachers, arms crossed tight. She hadn’t even tried to hide the anger written all over her face. Veil hadn’t shown up to the parent event—again. Of course, she hadn’t. Veil was always too busy, too distracted by her hustle. She was all about that grind, the underground mod shop, making moves, and staying ahead of the law. So Selene did what she always did—hit the gym with her fam: Celesse, Ennuy, and Aether.

Celesse wasn’t about the ball though, nah. She was off to the side, rolling with Mortis. The baby basilisk was no joke—shiny black scales, sharp teeth, and that little green-eyed glow like he was sizing everyone up for his next meal. Her voice came out soft as she whispered to Mortis, her hand caressing his sleek head. He darted after tennis balls she tossed, snatching them up with his tiny jaws before slithering back to her, his tail wagging like some dangerous puppy.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her eyes glowing faintly with magic as she patted him. Mortis made this weird, half-growl, half-purr sound, clearly proud of himself.

Meanwhile, on the court, things were heating up real fast. Ennuy and Aether squared off against Nason and Payback, and the tension was thick—like, you could cut it with a blade. Ennuy’s game was all street—fast, dirty, unpredictable. He had moves that came from the slums, the alleys, where you didn’t just play to win—you played to survive. He threw a sharp fake, stepping back with that swagger, launching the ball through the air.

Swish.

Nason cursed under his breath, wiping sweat from his forehead, but it was Payback’s face that said it all—straight fire in his eyes. That ball going through the net just stoked the heat between him and Ennuy. Ennuy couldn’t resist, throwing a sharp jab.

“Yo, Payback, how it feel knowin’ you Xyra’s second choice, huh? She roll wit’ me first, homie. Now you just her little errand boy,” Ennuy spat, smirking.

Payback's jaw clenched, his fists tightening around the ball. “Shut your mouth, Ennuy,” Payback growled. “Xyra don’t want no washed-up has-been like you. She put me on ‘cause I’m real—ain’t got time for losers.”

Aether just stood by, smirking quietly. He didn’t need to talk, his moves spoke for him. Swift, clean, and deadly accurate—like the Oni blood running through him kept him cool and controlled even when the heat was up. He stayed focused on the game, letting Ennuy and Payback keep jawing at each other.

The ball snapped back into Payback’s hands, and he shoved it forward with a fierce drive, eyes locked on Ennuy. “You ain’t got no respect left in this game, man. Xyra knows who’s loyal, who’s got her back.”

“Loyal?” Ennuy barked a laugh, cutting him off. “Nah, you just the next pawn she’s playin’. She’s always a move ahead, and you ain’t even in her line of sight, bruh.”

The tension between them was straight volcanic. You could see Payback’s hands shake a bit as he passed the ball, anger bubbling just below the surface. He hated Ennuy’s guts, always had. And now that Xyra had rolled with Payback more and more, giving him that shine Ennuy used to get, it was tearing at both of them.

“Yo, chill out,” Aether finally cut in, his voice smooth as silk. “Y’all too busy jawin’ to even keep score. Get your heads in the game before you embarrass yourselves.”

But the jabs weren’t stopping.

“Keep runnin’ your mouth,” Payback hissed, getting up in Ennuy’s face. “Xyra got me on that real deal. You? You just old news. Washed up, faded.”

Ennuy’s smirk dropped, and the next play was fast, sharp—like he was putting all that anger into the game. He spun past Payback with a hard cross, the ball flying from his hand, barely brushing the net as it dropped through again. The satisfaction was written all over Ennuy’s face, but the air was thick with unspoken threats.

“Bet she don’t even call you no more, huh? Guess I’m the one she trusts now,” Payback snarled, stepping up close again.

“Trust? Ain’t no trust in this game, Payback,” Ennuy fired back, eyes narrowing. “She’s just waitin’ to use you up like she used everyone else.”

Meanwhile, Selene leaned back against the railing, watching the chaos. For the first time in days, she felt some of her anger ease up as she let herself soak in the scene. The court was tense, and it was perfect. For a while now, nothing too wild had been going down—no crazy pact games, no big threats. Even Xyra had her hands full with some universities tryin’ to muscle in on Rave U’s turf. But all of that seemed far away in the gym. For now, it was just heat, sweat, and straight-up ego on display.

On the sidelines, Celesse was in her own world, whispering to Mortis like they had some secret plan. “You’re gonna grow up to be big and strong, huh?” she cooed at the baby basilisk, who blinked at her with those hypnotic green eyes. She tossed another ball, and he scrambled after it, his scales clicking on the floor.

Selene couldn’t help but smirk at the peaceful scene. Mortis might’ve been small now, but even baby basilisks were no joke. One wrong move, one bad gaze, and the gym could turn into a stone garden real quick. But Celesse had him wrapped around her finger, just like she always had a way with the dangerous things in her life.

Back on the court, Ennuy and Payback were still at it. Every move was sharper now, harder. There was no more casual playing—it was war. Payback drove the ball hard, crashing into Ennuy’s side, but Ennuy didn’t give an inch. The ball went flying, the squeak of sneakers cutting the tension as they both sprinted after it.

Selene shook her head, watching the two of them like they were about to blow. “They really ‘bout to throw hands over this game,” she muttered under her breath, amusement flickering in her eyes.

The gym was an old beast—half the bleachers were cracked, some barely holding on. Names had been carved into the wood from generations past, some tagged with graffiti and gang symbols, others just random nonsense. Xyra had spent the school’s funds on upgrading everything else, but the gym had been low on the list. But no one cared. The teams she boosted—basketball, football—they were the ones that mattered. The others could whine all they wanted, but Xyra’s vision was clear. Build where it counts.

And Ravetham was about survival. You didn’t get what you wanted unless you took it.

Aether grabbed the ball next, his body moving in that slick, calm way he always had. He didn’t need to talk, didn’t need to get heated like the others. His actions were enough. With a quick step, he feinted, sending Nason stumbling as he sunk another shot, ice-cold.

“Y’all ain’t got no hustle,” Aether said, barely breaking a sweat. His voice cut through the heated air, calm and collected, a contrast to the rage building in the room.

For a moment, things were still. The ball bounced once, twice, then rolled to a stop. Ennuy and Payback stood eyeing each other, sweat dripping from their brows. There was no love lost between them, but the game had brought out something fierce, raw. This wasn’t about winning anymore—it was personal.

Selene let out a low whistle. “Ain’t no one walking outta here without a score to settle.”

Celesse, cradling Mortis in her arms, glanced over, her smile fading just a bit. “Just hope they don’t wreck the place,” she murmured, her voice quiet but knowing.