The Limitless Fortress: Ghosts of the Old Volts
The neon-soaked grime of Night City was gone, swallowed whole by the oppressive shadows of the Limitless Fortress. Above them, the sky bled. A heavy, crimson light from the blood-red moon spilled over the cracked cobblestones of the dark back alleyways, painting the stone walls in shades of rust and shadow.
The wind didn't just blow here—it howled like something dying, carrying with it the unnatural scent of ozone and decaying autumn leaves that swirled aggressively in the chill air.
Masaki Karsu walked with his hand resting near his weapon, his eyes scanning the looming, gothic architecture. Beside him, Kyogi Kagimi kept a tense pace, every shadow looking like a potential blade.
Out of the darkness, the silhouette of a man materialized. He stepped into the crimson moonlight, his attire sharply contrasting with the rugged, war-torn alley. He wore a pristine, old-world top hat and a dark purple coat, holding a strange, glowing chocolate bar that pulsed with an eerie, magical light.
"May I introduce myself?" the man said, his voice a smooth, sinister purr that cut right through the whistling wind. "Arthur Slugworth. One of the presidents of the Brain Trust. I'll get straight to the point: if Genji succeeds, he'll ruin me. Let's have you stop right there."
Slugworth’s eyes locked onto Masaki, gleaming with cold calculation. "So, you're Masaki Karsu... the last of the Four Kings of the Old Volts."
Before Masaki could answer, a heavy, armored step thudded against the pavement. Ban Meadow, the towering green-skinned warrior, gripped his massive hammer tighter, his jaw set in a grim scowl.
"I am surprised we made it this far," Ban Meadow said, looking over at Masaki, his voice deep and gravelly. He glanced toward the cloaked figure shifting in the dark behind them—the thread master, Kazaki. "Next time, they will erase us completely."
The wind howled again, a sudden, violent gust that whipped the fallen autumn leaves into a frenzy around their boots. The air grew instantly colder, the ambient hum of the fortress dying into a suffocating silence.
From the shadows, a nervous voice called out, echoing off the damp walls. "Hello? Is anyone there? If... if there is, can we not wake it up? 'Cause everyone so far has been an enemy."
"Quiet," Makubex interjected, stepping forward into the light. His dark leather jacket absorbed the red moonlight, his clawed hand twitching with kinetic energy. He didn't look at the trembling voice in the dark; his eyes were fixed on the looming spires of the fortress above them, where arcs of purple electricity were beginning to crackle violently.
Makubex's voice dropped to a low, haunting whisper, reciting the ancient warning of the fortress:
"Expose your heart to summon ghosts... then face alone what you fear most."
As the words left his lips, the crackling electricity from the old volts sparked to life, and the screaming spirits of the fortress began to rise from the stones.
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