Life of a Light

Chap 57 - Ghost Cell

Before becoming Specter, Kael Voss was a brilliant but emotionally detached operative in a shadow branch of the government-funded Blacklight Division—a covert faction responsible for experimenting with Numen resonance on human subjects. His specialty: behavioral prediction and cognitive disruption. Kael's mind was a weapon long before his body was enhanced.

Kael never volunteered for Numen enhancement. He designed the psychological tests, selected candidates, and oversaw experiments—including those on Subjects 04, 05, and 06 (Freyda, Erida, and Armada). He saw the children as variables, test cases, not people. In his eyes, emotion was noise. Compassion? Weakness.

But when one experiment began producing unexpected results—Armada's growing resistance to control—Kael made a reckless decision: he injected himself with a variant serum derived from her readings, believing he could master the same unpredictability that made her special.

The process nearly killed him. But he survived.

What emerged was not just Kael—but a version of him enhanced with memory distortion, predictive reflexes, and unstable spatial awareness. He could now implant false short-term sensory memories—tricking others into thinking they had already moved, attacked, or spoken. His mind moved faster than most, but it came at a cost: his perception of reality began to fracture.

Now known as Specter, he stayed within the facility after its collapse—tasked with guarding the innermost corridors, maintaining "security" for the program's remnants. He viewed it as his penance... and his legacy.

But when he sensed Subject 06—Armada—returning, something inside him sparked again. A mix of rivalry, regret, and obsession. She was the one variable he never cracked. The one result that proved he could fail.

To Kael Voss, this wasn't just a battle.

It was a final experiment.

Corridor Beta-9. Lights crackle and buzz overhead. The air is tense with static energy. Armada's blade rests in her hand, calm but ready—like a storm waiting to break.

Kael Voss  (stepping from the shadows):
"Well now... Subject 06. We always wondered how long you'd survive out there without us."

Armada (flatly):
"Long enough to remember what you did."

He smirks—confident, dangerous. A glimmer of energy pulses across his arms.

Kael Voss 
"You were the best of the batch. But not the only one to evolve. Let's see what you've really become."

In a blink, he's on her—fist crashing down with a burst of Numen energy. Armada dodges, barely. The shockwave ripples through the corridor, distorting the air.

Kael Voss  (grinning):
"Still fast... but not fast enough."

He swings again—only for his fist to pass through her.

His grin fades.

Kael Voss 
"What—?"

The Armada he struck vanishes in a flicker—an afterimage, light and shadow left behind like a ghost.

Armada (voice echoing slightly):
"I used to see ghosts in my cell. Turns out, I was the ghost."

Another afterimage appears—sprinting left. He reacts, lashes out, only to strike nothing. The real Armada moves behind him, silent as smoke. Her blade hums with kinetic energy.

Kael Voss  (irritated):
"Illusions?! You learned tricks?"

Armada (calm, circling):
"No. I perfected them."

Her movements blur. Each time she steps, an echo remains—a flickering silhouette, a step behind. The corridor becomes a hall of phantoms, each one a possible strike. The figure stumbles, forced to react, to second-guess.

Then—he flares his own Numen. A pulse erupts from him, distorting memory and space.

Kael Voss  (voice low):
"Let's see how you fight when you don't know what's real."

Reality twists. Armada feels it—false memories flickering, her body telling her she's already attacked, already moved. Her mind staggers under the weight of the illusion.

Kael Voss (advancing):
"You think tricks can beat control?"

But Armada closes her eyes. Breathes.

Armada (quietly):
"Not tricks. Timing."

In her darkness, she reaches inward—into the hum of her own Numen. Her afterimages aren't just illusions. They're rhythms—each one a beat, a tempo.

She feels where he expects her to be. And so—she isn't.

A step to the right—an image flickers left.

He strikes where she was—then grunts, pain flashing across his face.

Armada's blade slices across his side. Not fatal. Just enough to teach him she's inside his head now.

Kael Voss  (growling):
"You're manipulating perception... even mine."

Armada (closing the distance):
"Welcome to your own nightmare."

She unleashes a flurry—each swing accompanied by a trailing phantom, each dodge a dance between what's real and what's imagined. The corridor becomes chaos. To the figure, she's everywhere.

He roars—Numen surging—but his attacks land only on air and echoes.

Finally, she finds the opening. Her real self—silent, patient—bursts from a phantom and lands a precise strike across his chest. He collapses, stunned, breathing hard.

Kael Voss  (choking, half-laughing):
"You... were always more dangerous... than we knew."

Armada (softly):
"You only ever saw what you wanted. And now you'll never know what's real again."

She steps over him, fading into the flickering corridor.

The halls grow tighter, darker—littered with broken panels and the twitching bodies of neutralized minions. Freyda and Erida are pushing forward with ruthless efficiency.

Freyda (wiping sweat from her brow):
"These aren't just guards. They're programmed to delay us."

Erida (stoic, glancing at the wall sensors):
"Stalling tactics. Someone doesn't want us in the core systems."

Freyda (smirking):
"Then we must be close."

Another wave of minions charges from the corridor—slim, insect-like humanoids with jagged limbs and glowing blue cores embedded in their chests. Erida and Freyda exchange a glance.

Erida:
"You take the fast ones. I'll crush the cores."

Freyda (grinning):
"Let's dance."

In a synchronized strike, Freyda unleashes a wave of thermal blasts across the hallway, forcing the faster minions to scatter. Erida calmly slams her foot on the ground, activating her localized gravity distortion—collapsing the enemies' momentum and pulling them into the floor.

In minutes, the hallway falls silent—steam rising, scorched metal groaning.

Control Room doors hiss open.

Inside: a dimly lit hub glowing with monitor feeds, active terminals, and a massive central screen that pulses with a red warning symbol.

Freyda (eyeing the data):
"This place is still wired into the whole facility. Surveillance, energy flow, experiments