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# Chapter 11 – Infiltration (Part 2)
The twenty-first floor looked less like part of a corporate skyscraper and more like something pulled straight out of a science fiction film.
Bright white lights stretched across the ceiling without a single shadow between them. Long corridors branched in every direction, walls made almost entirely of reinforced glass. Behind each pane, teams of researchers worked with the kind of focus that bordered on obsession. Machines hummed with a constant low vibration. Holographic screens floated above workstations, streams of symbols and equations updating faster than I could read them. Mechanical arms assembled intricate metallic components with microscopic precision, while strange transparent containers held liquids that glowed in colors I'd never seen outside a computer screen.
One room contained what looked like a sphere of liquid metal suspended in midair, slowly rotating without anything supporting it. Another held a crystal the size of a human torso, constantly releasing tiny arcs of blue electricity that danced through the air before disappearing.
I had absolutely no idea what any of it was supposed to accomplish. And honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"According to Ira, almost every floor above us is dedicated to research."
I glanced through another glass wall where a dozen scientists argued around a floating three-dimensional model of something resembling a human nervous system. One of them slammed both hands onto the table.
"No! If the resonance frequency exceeds the threshold, the Universal Energy will reject the host entirely!"
"Only because you're treating it like electrical energy! You're approaching it from the wrong theoretical framework."
A third scientist looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "Can both of you stop arguing and let me finish the simulation?"
None of them noticed us. Or couldn't afford to—whatever they were working on seemed infinitely more important.
I slowly exhaled. A few months ago, I thought humanity's greatest achievement was putting satellites into orbit. Now I was apparently walking through a secret research complex filled with technology decades—maybe centuries—ahead of the rest of the world.
What else had been hidden from ordinary people?
The thought was unsettling.
Beside me, Ira remained completely calm. "Keep moving."
Right. Existential crises could wait until we weren't trespassing inside one of the most secure buildings on Earth.
We'd entered through a maintenance stairwell hidden behind one of the laboratory sections. Getting inside hadn't actually been the difficult part—Ira's concealment ability made slipping past cameras and patrols surprisingly manageable.
The building itself was another story.
Whoever designed this place deserved either a medal or psychiatric evaluation. Every staircase ended at a reinforced security door. Beyond that door lay an entirely different floor. The next staircase wasn't connected. If you wanted to reach the floor above, you had no choice but to walk the entire current level before accessing another isolated stairwell. No shortcuts. No climbing straight to the top. Every floor acted as its own security checkpoint.
The architectural equivalent of: *If you're infiltrating this building, you're going to suffer for it.*
I almost respected the commitment. Almost.
The twenty-second floor wasn't much different, though the equipment became even stranger.
A cylindrical chamber stretched from floor to ceiling, containing what appeared to be a miniature thunderstorm. Clouds swirled inside the glass enclosure, releasing bolts of lightning that struck a metallic core suspended in the center. Instead of exploding, the energy simply vanished. One researcher smiled so widely I briefly questioned his sanity.
"It stabilized!"
Another immediately hugged him. "We actually stabilized it!"
Several others erupted into cheers. I blinked.
Scientists were terrifying. Not because they were dangerous—because they looked genuinely happy after creating something that appeared capable of vaporizing a city block. I decided not to judge. Mostly because I didn't understand enough to judge.
A pair of researchers rounded the corner ahead. Ira instantly raised a hand. We stopped.
His concealment ability wrapped around us like invisible mist, dulling our presence until even I struggled to sense it. The researchers walked straight past.
One rubbed his temples. "If the Director rejects another proposal, I'm quitting."
"You've said that seventeen times."
"I mean it this time."
"No, you don't."
"...Yeah."
They disappeared around the corner without ever realizing two intruders had been standing less than two meters away. Only after they were gone did Ira continue walking.
"You seem relaxed," I whispered.
"I've done this before."
That was somehow less reassuring.
The twenty-third floor felt like stepping into an entirely different world.
The scientists vanished. So did the glass laboratories. Reinforced steel walls lined the corridors instead. Armed personnel in black tactical uniforms stood at regular intervals, rifles hanging from their shoulders. Security cameras watched every intersection. Motion sensors ran along the ceilings. Massive blast doors divided the floor into multiple sealed sections.
Even the lighting changed—the sterile white glow replaced by something colder, harder. Like the building itself expected violence.
"If war broke out," I muttered, "this floor would probably survive."
"It was built to."
That didn't sound like a joke.
We moved deeper into the security sector. I activated Transfiguration.
The change hit instantly. My vision sharpened until every tiny detail exploded into focus—individual strands of fabric, minute scratches on rifle barrels, microscopic movements beneath people's skin as muscles shifted with every step. Then my hearing expanded. Footsteps echoed from distant hallways. Doors opened three corridors away. Two guards quietly complained about cafeteria food. Someone on another floor dropped a metal tool. Heartbeats pounded all around me. Dozens. Hundreds.
The world became overwhelming.
For one terrifying moment, everything blurred together. Too much sound. Too much movement. Too much information. I nearly stumbled.
"Inala."
Ira's voice sounded strangely distant. "You alright?"
I closed my eyes. Breathed once, then again. Slowly, my brain adapted—the useless noise fading into the background, the important details rising to the surface. Like adjusting a camera lens. The chaos settled into clarity.
I opened my eyes.
"Useful?" Ira whispered.
A smile crept onto my face. "...Very."
He nodded. "Can anyone see us?"
I focused on the nearest patrol. One guard scratched the side of his nose. Another checked his watch. A third yawned before immediately straightening when a superior walked by. None of them reacted to us.
"No."
"Good."
We continued forward. For the next several floors, everything went almost suspiciously smoothly. No close calls, no alarms, no unexpected encounters. I started wondering if this mission had been easier than we'd feared.
That thought had barely finished forming when we stepped onto the twenty-eighth floor.
I stopped.
A massive security gate blocked the corridor ahead. Three armed guards stood beside it. Behind them, mounted above the entrance, sat a circular machine emitting faint pulses of pale blue light—slow, rhythmic waves washing across the hallway.
Ira's confident expression disappeared.
"...This is a problem."
The optimism I'd spent the last several minutes building evaporated instantly.
"What kind of problem?"
He didn't answer immediately, his eyes fixed on the machine. "The kind we didn't prepare for."
I looked at the scanner, then back at him.
"...Wonderful."
The machine pulsed again. Thanks to Transfiguration, I could actually see the wave spreading through the corridor—like invisible sonar, except it wasn't mapping objects. It flowed through every person passing the gate before returning to the device. Searching. Analyzing. Judging.
I frowned. "...It's detecting abilities."
Ira slowly nodded. "Exactly."
A faint chill ran down my spine. Technology designed specifically to expose power users. The more I learned about this hidden world, the less I understood how ordinary humanity had remained completely oblivious to it.
I kept my eyes locked on the scanner. Every few seconds, another pale-blue wave spread through the corridor, passed over the people at the checkpoint, then flowed back into the machine.
Three guards stood beside the gate with the relaxed confidence of people who had done this a thousand times. One checked IDs as employees approached. Another watched the corridor. The third leaned against the wall, occasionally glancing at the scanner's display. None of them looked bored—which alone told me this checkpoint mattered.
A middle-aged researcher carrying a stack of files approached the gate. One guard scanned his badge.
"Proceed."
The metal gate slid open with a low hiss. The researcher walked through. The blue wave swept across his body. For half a second, the scanner's display flashed green. The gate closed again. Everything returned to normal. Another employee arrived, then another. Each time, flawless. No hesitation. No delay. No obvious weakness.
I frowned. "There has to be something..."
"What are you looking for?" Ira asked quietly.
"A mistake."
He raised an eyebrow. "Machines don't usually make mistakes."
"They don't have to." I never looked away from the scanner. "They just have to follow rules."
Minutes passed. Neither of us moved. Scientists carrying tablets. Engineers pushing equipment carts. Security personnel changing shifts. The scanner analyzed every single one. Its rhythm never changed—pulse, scan, process, pulse, scan, process—again and again.
I narrowed my eyes. The pattern felt almost mechanical. Obviously. But there was something else. Every cycle followed the exact same timing. No variation. No randomness. Like watching a pendulum swing.
"Inala."
"Hm?"
"If we stay here much longer, someone will eventually notice."
"I know." I just needed one clue.
Another group approached—five researchers laughing about something. The guards barely acknowledged them. The gate opened. The scanner emitted another pulse. Blue light washed over the group.
Then something flickered.
Tiny. So small I almost missed it. The scanner's glow dimmed—not completely, just enough—for barely two heartbeats before it resumed as if nothing had happened.
"...Wait." I leaned forward slightly. "Did you see that?"
Ira looked confused. "See what?"
"The scanner."
"It scanned them."
"No." I shook my head. "It stopped."
"It *what?*"
"For just a moment."
He frowned. "I didn't notice."
"I almost didn't either."
We waited. Another employee walked through. Nothing. Five more minutes. Still nothing. I started wondering if I'd imagined it.
Then a larger group arrived—nearly fifteen researchers pushing several equipment carts toward the checkpoint. One guard sighed dramatically.
"Busy day."
The gate opened wider than before. The scanner pulsed. The blue wave expanded—
—and vanished.
Not permanently. Just briefly. The display flickered: *Processing.* Exactly two seconds. Then another pulse began.
I smiled. "There."
Ira's eyes narrowed. "...You're right."
"The scanner pauses," I said. "When it processes large amounts of data—"
"It temporarily stops scanning."
His expression slowly shifted. Then he smiled.
"A blind spot."
"It can't scan and process simultaneously," I whispered. "So it alternates."
Ira nodded. "That explains why no one's ever noticed. It only happens for a couple of seconds, and only when enough people pass through together."
I glanced toward the checkpoint again. "So we wait."
Waiting turned out to be harder than expected. Every minute felt like ten. People moved through the checkpoint in small groups—two scientists, three technicians, a pair of security officers. Never enough. The scanner barely paused.
"What if another large group doesn't come?" I asked.
"It will."
"You sound confident."
"I've spent enough time in buildings like this." He folded his arms. "Eventually everyone decides to leave their lab at the same time."
"...Fair."
Several more minutes crawled by. One guard stretched his shoulders. Another yawned. The third accepted a cup of coffee from a passing employee. I resisted the urge to complain. Stealth missions were ninety percent waiting—the exciting parts only happened in stories. Real life mostly involved standing perfectly still while your legs slowly went numb.
Then footsteps. Lots of them.
Around twenty employees rounded the corner together, some carrying research equipment, others holding stacks of documents, a few still arguing over something involving energy resonance. One elderly scientist waved his notebook wildly.
"I don't care what the simulation says!"
"The equations are correct!"
"The equations are *boring!*"
His younger colleague looked exhausted. "That's... not how mathematics works."
Even now, scientists were arguing. Some things truly were universal.
The guards noticed the crowd immediately.
"Large group incoming."
The gate slid open. The scanner intensified. Blue light expanded across the entire corridor as the employees walked forward one after another, the machine scanning each of them.
Then the display flashed: *Processing.*
Ira's hand grabbed my shoulder. "...Now."
His concealment ability surged. The air around us shimmered so faintly that even I could barely perceive it. We stepped forward—not running, because running attracted attention, not walking too slowly either. Just matching the pace of the crowd.
The scanner remained frozen.
One second. Halfway there.
One guard glanced toward us. My heart nearly stopped. His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second—then he scratched his chin and looked away. He hadn't seen us. He couldn't. The concealment held.
One more step.
The scanner came back to life. Blue light burst outward—just behind us. The wave swept through the employees still entering the gate, missing us entirely. The gate closed with a heavy metallic clang.
Silence.
No alarms. No flashing lights. No shouting.
We'd made it through.
Neither of us spoke until we'd turned two separate corners. Only then did Ira finally let out a slow breath.
"...That was closer than I would've liked."
"You call that close?"
"I've experienced worse."
I stared at him. "I suddenly don't want to hear your autobiography."
He laughed quietly. "Probably for the best."
I leaned against the wall, letting the tension drain from my body. Only now did I realize how tightly I'd been clenching my fists. My palms were damp. My heartbeat was finally slowing down.
"Nice catch," Ira said.
I shrugged. "I just got lucky."
"No." He looked at me seriously. "You observed something everyone else overlooked."
Coming from Ira, that almost sounded like praise.
"...Thanks."
He gave a small nod before turning toward the next stairwell. "We're not even halfway there."
Of course we weren't. Why would infiltrating one of the most powerful organizations in the world ever be that easy? Suppressing a sigh, I followed him toward the stairs.
The higher we climbed, the stranger this building became.
The stairwell door slid open with a soft hiss.
The moment we stepped onto the thirty-second floor, I knew we'd entered an entirely different part of the facility.
Gone were the endless security checkpoints and rows of armed guards. Instead, silence filled the corridors—not peaceful silence. The kind that existed in places where everyone was too focused to waste energy talking. Glass observation windows stretched along both sides of the hallway. Behind them, laboratories buzzed with controlled chaos. Researchers rushed from one workstation to another while holographic displays projected equations across the air.
The scale dwarfed everything we'd seen below.
"This floor..." I whispered.
Ira glanced through one of the windows. "Advanced research."
"Advanced compared to what?"
He looked at me. "Everything."
...That wasn't reassuring.
The first laboratory we passed contained what looked like a miniature sun.
A sphere of brilliant golden light floated inside several concentric containment rings. Thick cables disappeared into the floor beneath it, while dozens of monitors tracked its every fluctuation. Scientists surrounded the chamber, speaking so quickly I could barely follow them.
"Output is holding at ninety-three percent."
"Universal Energy conversion remains stable."
"Increase the intake by two percent."
"We'll overload the field!"
"That's why we're testing it."
The golden sphere pulsed. For an instant, every light in the room dimmed before returning to normal. No one panicked—if anything, several researchers looked excited.
"They're converting nuclear energy..." I muttered. "...into Universal Energy."
Ira nodded. "If they perfect that technology, humanity's energy crisis disappears overnight."
I stared at the glowing sphere. "And if they fail?"
"...Let's hope they don't."
The amount of reinforced glass surrounding the laboratory suggested they'd already asked themselves the same question.
The next room was somehow even stranger. Instead of machines, it contained people.
Several volunteers sat inside circular platforms connected to countless sensors. Thin streams of blue energy flowed through the surrounding machinery while scientists monitored their vital signs. Then one young man cried out—the blue energy surrounding him erupting violently before collapsing into nothing. Every alarm in the room blared.
"Shut it down!"
"Energy rejection!"
"His body can't handle the synchronization!"
The machines powered down. The young man slumped forward, breathing heavily but still alive. One exhausted scientist removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Another failure."
His colleague didn't look discouraged. "We're getting closer."
Closer to what?
I quietly backed away from the window. I didn't think I wanted the answer.
Further ahead, another laboratory caught my attention.
Ancient weapons rested inside reinforced display cases. Swords. Spears. Broken shields. Even a rusted crown. At first glance, ordinary archaeological artifacts. Then I noticed the energy—every single relic emitted a faint aura, not powerful but unmistakable. Researchers carefully examined each object using devices that resembled oversized microscopes. One elderly historian held an old bronze dagger with almost religious reverence.
"The inscriptions are reacting again."
His assistant looked stunned. "After two thousand years?"
"It appears Universal Energy doesn't obey our understanding of decay."
Ancient weapons infused with supernatural power. History textbooks were starting to feel increasingly dishonest.
The laboratory opposite it was worse. Much worse.
A large containment chamber occupied nearly the entire room. Inside, something moved. At first I thought it was smoke. Then the smoke stood up. It resembled a wolf—mostly. Its body constantly shifted between solid and shadow, as though reality couldn't decide what it actually was.
Two glowing crimson eyes opened. The creature slowly turned its head.
Directly toward me.
I froze. There was no way it could—its gaze followed me. Every step. Every breath. The thing was looking straight at me despite Ira's concealment. A low growl echoed through the chamber.
Researchers immediately looked toward the containment field.
"Energy levels rising."
"It sensed something."
"Impossible. There shouldn't be anyone outside."
The creature pressed one massive paw against the invisible barrier. Black mist spread across the glass like ink.
My instincts screamed: *Leave. Now.*
I didn't argue. I looked away and kept walking.
Nope. Absolutely not. Whatever nightmare that thing came from, it could stay there.
"You think it saw us?" I whispered once we'd put some distance between ourselves and the containment room.
"I don't know."
"...Comforting."
"It didn't alert anyone."
"Yet."
Ira stayed silent—which somehow worried me even more.
The deeper we ventured into the floor, the stranger the research became. One laboratory studied tiny tears suspended in empty space—thin cracks floating in midair, each no larger than a coin, researchers extending mechanical probes toward them before immediately pulling back whenever the cracks expanded. Another room housed massive transparent crystals arranged in a perfect circle, blue arcs of energy leaping between them continuously, forming geometric patterns that shifted every few seconds.
One scientist laughed excitedly. "The dimensional frequency stabilized!"
His colleague nearly dropped his tablet. "It shouldn't even be possible!"
Apparently that sentence had become this organization's unofficial motto.
By the time we reached the far end of the floor, my understanding of reality had taken several severe beatings.
Secret organizations. Supernatural abilities. Living shadows. Ancient relics. Energy that ignored the laws of physics. At this point, if someone told me dragons were real, I'd probably just nod and ask where they kept them.
I really hoped the answer wasn't on the next floor.
The thirty-third floor proved slightly less terrifying. Only slightly.
Instead of laboratories, it housed enormous testing chambers—reinforced arenas separated by thick observation windows. Inside one, two power users fought under the watchful eyes of dozens of researchers. One manipulated fire. The other controlled what looked like compressed air. Every attack was recorded by hundreds of sensors lining the walls.
"Reaction time increased by twelve percent."
"Subject B adapted after the fourth exchange."
"Record the energy efficiency."
Neither combatant seemed to care they were being analyzed like laboratory animals. They fought with frightening precision—no wasted movement, no unnecessary attacks, just efficiency. I watched a pillar of fire crash into an invisible wall of wind and explode into a shower of sparks. The impact shook the entire chamber. The observation glass didn't even crack.
I silently decided never to underestimate this organization again. This wasn't merely a hidden society.
It was an empire. And we were walking straight through its heart.
The thirty-fourth floor couldn't have been more different from the chaos below.
The moment we stepped out of the stairwell, the noise disappeared—no humming machinery, no shouting researchers, no crackling energy. The corridor stretched ahead beneath warm, subdued lighting, lined with polished black walls instead of reinforced glass. At regular intervals, thick vault doors stood recessed into the walls, each covered in enough security measures to make the lower floors seem almost careless. Retina scanners. Palm readers. Keypads. Even small circular devices that pulsed with Universal Energy.
Whoever designed this place clearly believed information was more valuable than any weapon. Judging by the security, they were probably right.
"Archives," Ira whispered.
I looked around. "This entire floor?"
He nodded. "Everything the organization has collected over the centuries."
"Centuries?"
"They're much older than they look."
That simple sentence somehow made the place even more unsettling.
Unlike the laboratories below, employees here moved quietly—gray uniforms instead of white lab coats. Archivists. Historians. Analysts. People whose job wasn't discovering the future but preserving the past. Each carried stacks of old books or encrypted data drives with almost reverent care. No one spoke above a whisper. Even their footsteps seemed softer.
It felt less like an office and more like a library built inside a fortress.
We slipped deeper into the archives. Through reinforced glass, I caught sight of endless rows of shelves disappearing into the distance. Not hundreds. Thousands. Ancient scrolls rested beside leather-bound books. Metal cylinders filled with microfilm stood next to sleek crystal data drives. History and modern technology existing side by side—every era, every civilization, every secret. Preserved. Waiting.
A nearby vault stood partially open. Only for a moment—an archivist wheeled a cart inside before the heavy door slowly began closing again. As we passed, I caught a brief glimpse of the labels lining the shelves.
*Ancient Kingdoms. Dimensional Incidents. Ability Bloodlines. Forbidden Artifacts. Global Influence Reports.*
The door sealed shut before I could read anything else.
A chill crept down my spine. Those weren't historical records. They were evidence—evidence that everything I'd believed about human history had been incomplete.
Another hallway branched off to our right. Unlike the others, it contained transparent display cases rather than storage vaults. Inside rested objects that looked ordinary. A faded journal. A broken compass. An old pocket watch. Each had a small plaque beneath it.
I slowed just enough to read one.
*Recovered following the disappearance of an entire settlement.*
I immediately kept walking. Some mysteries were healthier left unsolved.
"You seem curious," Ira murmured.
"I am."
"Don't."
"...That's your advice?"
"It'll keep you alive longer."
I couldn't even argue with that.
We turned another corner. This section stored digital intelligence rather than physical records—rows of secure servers behind armored glass, each one blinking with tiny green lights. Dozens of analysts worked silently at holographic workstations. Maps floated in the air. Economic graphs updated in real time. Satellite images rotated slowly. Political borders. Military deployments. Energy production. Global markets. Information from every corner of the world, flowing through this single room.
One analyst calmly reported, "Commodity prices in Sector Nine have shifted by three percent."
Another replied without looking up. "Adjust the investment projections."
A third spoke into a communicator. "The minister accepted the proposal."
*Proposal? What proposal?* No one explained. No one needed to. The conversation alone was enough.
I stared at the room. "...They're monitoring everything."
Ira's expression didn't change. "They have to."
"For what?"
"So humanity doesn't destroy itself."
I looked at him. "That's a pretty convenient excuse."
"It isn't an excuse." His voice remained calm. "It's a responsibility."
I frowned. "And if someone abuses that responsibility?"
He didn't answer immediately. After several long seconds: "They usually don't live very long."
I wasn't sure whether that reassured me or terrified me.
As we continued walking, fragments of conversations drifted through the air.
"Update the classified incident database."
"Cross-reference the awakening reports."
"The dimensional activity has increased again."
"Move the file to Omega clearance."
*Omega. Alpha. Director-level.* Every few steps I heard another security classification I'd never encountered before. Apparently there were entire layers of this organization hidden even from its own employees.
By now, one realization had become impossible to ignore: human civilization wasn't running itself. At least, not completely.
Wars. Governments. Scientific breakthroughs. Economic crises. All of them could be influenced by the people working inside this building—not through open control, but through tiny nudges. One decision here. One recommendation there. A single investment. A single assassination. A single discovery released to the public, or hidden forever. Enough small pushes, and history itself changed direction. Ordinary people would never notice. They'd simply believe the world had progressed naturally.
Including me. Until a few weeks ago, I would've laughed if someone suggested a hidden organization secretly shaped civilization.
Now I was literally trespassing inside its headquarters.
Life was funny sometimes.
The stairwell to the next floor finally came into view. I couldn't help glancing back one last time. Thousands of years of secrets rested behind those vault doors—answers to questions humanity hadn't even thought to ask. Part of me desperately wanted to stay. Open one file. Read one document. Learn one impossible truth.
But the smarter part remembered why we were here.
Curiosity got people killed. Especially in places like this.
I followed Ira into the stairwell without another word. As the heavy door closed behind us, I felt the weight of the archives settle somewhere deep in my mind. The world I'd known was gone. And things were only going to get stranger from here.
The thirty-fifth floor returned to looking like a normal office. At least at first glance.
Employees walked through the corridors carrying tablets and briefcases instead of research equipment. Meeting rooms lined the hallways, their walls made of smart glass that shifted from transparent to opaque with the touch of a button. Compared to the laboratories below, it felt almost ordinary.
Almost.
The people weren't.
Even before activating Transfiguration, I could sense it. The atmosphere around them was different—heavier, sharper. Every person who walked these halls carried themselves with quiet confidence, the kind born from absolute certainty in their own strength. No nervous chatter. No hurried footsteps. No wasted movement.
Power didn't need to announce itself. It simply existed.
We passed a conference room with its glass walls turned transparent. Around a large circular table sat nearly twenty men and women, their conversation calm and professional.
"...the eastern branch requests another expedition."
"Denied."
"The dimensional instability is increasing."
"Then reinforce the containment teams. No unnecessary casualties."
The decision was made in less than ten seconds. No arguments. No debate. Just a simple conclusion that would probably affect hundreds of people.
These weren't researchers. They were administrators—the people giving orders instead of following them.
As we continued upward, the security became less obvious. Fewer guards. Fewer cameras. Yet my instincts insisted these floors were more dangerous than everything below.
I finally understood why. The guards had been replaced. By monsters.
A woman stepped out of a nearby office. Couldn't have been older than thirty. Brown hair tied neatly behind her head. Business suit. Coffee mug in one hand. She looked like an ordinary executive heading to another meeting.
Then she walked past us.
My skin crawled. It wasn't fear—it was instinct. Something inside me recognized that if this woman wanted me dead, I wouldn't survive long enough to scream. She disappeared around the corner without ever noticing us.
I swallowed. "...What rank was she?"
Ira answered without looking back. "I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I've never seen her before."
That somehow made things worse.
The next floor was quieter still. Elegant paintings decorated the walls. Fresh flowers stood in expensive crystal vases. Soft music played through hidden speakers. It felt more like the headquarters of an international corporation than a secret organization controlling half the world.
Until I noticed the paintings.
Every one depicted battles. Ancient battlefields. Cities burning beneath dark skies. Power users standing against creatures that looked nothing like anything found on Earth. I slowed near one canvas—a single man standing atop a mountain of corpses, holding a sword pointed toward the heavens while black clouds split apart above him. No artist's signature. Only a small plaque.
*The Third Dimensional War.*
I stared. "...That's a painting."
Ira nodded. "It is."
"No..." I looked at him. "I mean that's an actual *event?*"
His expression remained unreadable. "Yes."
I decided I no longer trusted history books.
The thirty-eighth floor nearly ended everything.
The instant the stairwell door opened, my body froze. I hadn't seen anyone yet. But every instinct I possessed erupted into panic. *Run. Hide. Leave. Now.* A crushing pressure filled the corridor ahead—invisible, silent, yet so overwhelming my breathing became difficult.
"What..."
I barely managed to whisper. Ira's face had gone completely pale. He slowly raised one hand.
"Don't."
That single word carried more urgency than anything he'd said all night.
Footsteps echoed through the corridor. Slow. Steady. Unhurried.
Then he appeared.
A tall man with neatly combed silver hair walked around the corner. Simple black clothing. No weapon. No visible aura. Nothing about him looked extraordinary.
Except everything.
The hallway itself felt different around him—as though the air had become heavier simply because he existed. Each step was perfectly measured, perfectly balanced, not the slightest wasted movement. My enhanced senses focused on him automatically. His heartbeat: steady, slow. His muscles: completely relaxed. Even his breathing was calm. This wasn't someone on guard. This was someone who simply didn't believe anything here could threaten him.
He stopped walking. My heart nearly stopped with him.
His head turned—not toward the corridor. Toward us. Directly toward us.
The concealment should have hidden us completely.
Yet his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
*He knows.*
I whispered it without meaning to. Ira didn't answer. He couldn't. Even breathing seemed dangerous.
The silver-haired man's heartbeat never changed. Neither did his expression. Only his breathing shifted—sharper, more focused.
I realized what he was doing.
"He isn't looking," I whispered so quietly even I barely heard myself. "He's listening."
Every tiny sound. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Sight replaced with hearing.
I closed my eyes and forced every muscle in my body to go perfectly still. Even my breathing slowed until it was almost imperceptible. Beside me, Ira did the same.
Seconds crawled by. One. Two. Five. Ten. The silver-haired man's gaze remained fixed on our hiding place. A single drop of sweat rolled down my neck—it felt impossibly loud.
Finally, he looked away. Without another word, he resumed walking. His footsteps gradually disappeared into the distance. Only after they were completely gone did I dare breathe normally again.
"...How?"
Ira asked quietly. "You knew he was listening. How?"
I thought back. "My enhanced senses. His heartbeat never changed." I looked down the corridor. "If he'd spotted us, he would've reacted. But his breathing changed instead."
Realization slowly spread across Ira's face. "...You noticed something even I missed."
I shrugged weakly. "I got lucky."
"No." His voice remained serious. "You stayed calm."
I almost laughed. *Calm?* My heart had been trying to escape through my throat.
"Who was he?"
For several seconds, Ira didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was unusually quiet.
"Someone we absolutely cannot fight."
"...Can you beat him?"
"No."
"What if both of us—"
"No."
Not even a second of consideration.
I decided that was enough information. Some questions really didn't need follow-up. We continued toward the next staircase in complete silence—neither of us looking back, neither of us wanting to discover the silver-haired man had decided to follow.
As we climbed higher, a strange feeling settled over me. The infiltration had crossed an invisible line. Everything below had been dangerous. Everything above would be lethal.
The thirty-ninth floor welcomed us with silence.
Not the sterile silence of laboratories. Not the tense silence of military checkpoints. This was the quiet of absolute confidence.
The corridor stretched ahead beneath a vaulted ceiling, its polished marble floor reflecting soft golden lights overhead. Expensive paintings decorated the walls, depicting scenes from different eras of history. Some I recognized. Most I didn't. Fresh flowers rested inside crystal vases. A faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air. It was beautiful.
Which somehow made it even more unsettling.
"This doesn't feel like the same building," I whispered.
"It isn't," Ira replied.
"What?"
He glanced around the hallway. "The lower floors belong to the organization. These belong to the people who run it."
The difference became obvious almost immediately. Very few employees. Instead, every person we encountered walked alone—no assistants, no bodyguards, no identification badges. They didn't need to. Their presence alone seemed to grant them access to anything they wanted.
A middle-aged man in a navy-blue suit stepped out of a private office, closed the door behind him, and calmly walked past us without looking in our direction. Yet as he passed, every instinct in my body urged me to keep my head down. His aura wasn't explosive. It wasn't oppressive like the silver-haired man's. It was controlled—like staring at a volcano that had chosen not to erupt.
Once he disappeared around the corner, I finally released the breath I'd been holding.
"...Everyone up here is like that?"
Ira nodded. "More or less."
"That's horrifying."
"It should be."
The fortieth floor was even quieter. Private offices lined both sides of the corridor, each one larger than most apartments. Elegant wooden doors bore no names. Only simple numbers.
Through one partially open doorway, I caught sight of a spacious office overlooking the city skyline. An elderly woman sat behind a massive desk, reading through a stack of reports while absentmindedly sipping tea. She looked like someone's grandmother. Completely harmless.
Then my enhanced senses brushed against her.
For a brief instant, the world seemed to disappear. A suffocating pressure crashed into my mind before vanishing just as quickly. I immediately looked away.
No. Absolutely not. Appearances meant nothing in this place.
"You felt that?" Ira asked.
"I'd rather not talk about it."
He gave a faint smile. "Good answer."
We continued upward. The forty-first. Forty-second. Forty-third. Every floor followed the same pattern—luxury, silence, power. Occasionally we passed executives discussing matters that sounded impossible.
"...the dimensional gate remains stable."
"Increase the patrols near the northern sector."
"The negotiations with the Eastern Council begin next month."
"Approved."
Each conversation lasted only moments. Every decision carried the weight of nations. Yet they discussed them with the same casual tone people used when deciding where to eat lunch.
One corridor overlooked an enormous indoor courtyard. From the balcony, I watched several power users practicing below. Calling it training felt inaccurate—no flashy attacks, no shouting, just quiet movements.
A man in white robes extended a single finger. The stone pillar twenty meters away silently split into two perfectly smooth halves. No explosion. No sound. Just cut.
Another woman swung an ordinary wooden practice sword. The air itself distorted. The training dummy behind her collapsed into neat pieces a second later.
Nobody clapped. Nobody reacted. Apparently this was considered normal.
I swallowed.
"Ira."
"Hm?"
"Exactly how strong are the people working here?"
He thought for a moment, then answered honestly. "Strong enough that the lower floors consider them legends."
I wasn't sure whether that was impressive or terrifying. Probably both.
By the time we reached the forty-fifth floor, I had stopped trying to estimate anyone's strength. There was no point. Every person here felt beyond anything I'd encountered before. If someone told me they could level an entire city, I might actually believe them.
The forty-seventh floor was different. The luxurious corridors ended abruptly. Beyond a pair of carved wooden doors lay a circular chamber unlike anything else in the building.
No marble floors. No expensive paintings. No offices. Just polished stone. Simple. Ancient.
The room was almost completely empty. Almost.
At its center sat an elderly man in plain gray robes, white hair falling neatly over his shoulders, quietly reading an old book from a single wooden chair. Nothing else occupied the chamber. No guards. No cameras. No security systems.
Just one old man reading.
I frowned. "...That's it?"
Ira didn't answer. His face had gone unusually pale.
"We wait," he whispered.
"Why?"
His eyes never left the old man. "Because if that's who I think it is..." He paused. "...we're already dead if he notices us."
The casual way he said it somehow made the words even worse.
I looked back at the old man. He calmly turned another page. Nothing about him seemed dangerous—no overwhelming aura, no killing intent, no visible weapon. Just peace. Birds rested on nearby tree branches visible through an open skylight. A gentle breeze drifted through the chamber. Even the atmosphere felt calmer around him. Strangely comforting.
Which immediately made me suspicious. After everything I'd seen tonight, anyone capable of making Ira afraid without doing anything was the last person I wanted to meet.
Minutes passed. Neither of us moved. Neither did the old man—he simply continued reading, turning one page after another with slow, practiced movements. I found myself wondering what kind of book could completely absorb someone like him.
Then I remembered where I was. Curiosity. Bad habit.
Without warning, the old man closed the book. The quiet sound echoed through the chamber. My entire body tensed. He rose to his feet with unhurried grace, and for one terrifying second I thought he was looking toward us.
Instead, he smiled faintly at something only he could see.
Then he walked away—no dramatic exit, no burst of power, just slow footsteps disappearing down another corridor. The moment he vanished, Ira finally exhaled.
"Move."
We crossed the chamber as quickly and as quietly as possible. I resisted every urge to look back.
Beyond the circular room stood a pair of silver elevator doors unlike any we'd seen before. No buttons. Instead, several security systems were embedded into the wall—a palm scanner, a retinal scanner, a DNA verification port, an energy-recognition device, and a small crystal that pulsed with soft blue light.
"...That's excessive," I muttered.
"It's the only elevator leading to the fiftieth floor."
"So breaking in normally is impossible."
"For almost everyone."
Ira placed his hand against the crystal. His concealment ability expanded once more, subtly interfering with the security field.
For several long seconds, nothing happened.
Then a soft chime echoed through the chamber. The elevator doors slid open.
I stared. "...You can hack ancient magical elevators now?"
A faint grin appeared on Ira's face. "I prefer the term 'creative authorization.'"
"That sounds significantly more illegal."
"It probably is."
We stepped inside. The doors closed behind us with a quiet hiss. As the elevator began its silent ascent, neither of us spoke. For the first time since entering the building, there was nowhere left to climb.
Only one destination remained.
The fiftieth floor.
The elevator moved without a sound. No vibration. No mechanical hum. It simply rose.
A small display above the doors showed nothing except a single glowing symbol pulsing softly every few seconds—no floor numbers, no emergency buttons, not even a control panel. The elevator already knew where it was going.
Neither of us spoke. After everything we'd seen, words felt unnecessary.
The silence stretched on. Five seconds. Ten. Thirty. The ride lasted far longer than it should have.
"Is it just me," I muttered, "or has this elevator been going up forever?"
Ira didn't take his eyes off the doors. "The fiftieth floor isn't directly above the others."
I frowned. "What does that mean?"
"...I don't know."
Before I could ask another question—
*Ding.*
The silver doors slid open. I took one step forward.
Then froze.
"So..." My voice barely came out as a whisper. "...what am I looking at?"
There wasn't another office. There wasn't another laboratory. There wasn't even another hallway.
There was a garden.
An entire garden stretched before us beneath an enormous glass dome arching high overhead. Sunlight poured through the crystal-clear ceiling, bathing everything in a gentle glow. Ancient trees towered over winding stone paths, their branches swaying softly despite the complete absence of any visible wind. Flowers of every imaginable color bloomed beneath them, filling the air with a faint, calming fragrance. Some species I recognized. Most I didn't.
A cool breeze brushed against my face. Fresh. Clean. It carried the scent of grass after rain.
For one impossible moment, I forgot we were standing on top of a skyscraper.
A narrow stone path wound through the garden, disappearing beneath the trees. Beside it flowed a crystal-clear stream, its gentle murmur the only sound breaking the silence. The water eventually widened into a small lake, its perfectly still surface reflecting both the moon above and the glittering city far below.
I slowly walked closer. Beyond the edge of the garden, massive glass walls overlooked the entire skyline. Hundreds of meters beneath us, millions of lights illuminated the sleeping city. Cars moved like tiny glowing insects. Buildings stretched endlessly toward the horizon.
Yet none of it felt real. The city seemed distant—as though another world existed outside the glass. Inside the garden, only peace remained.
"How..." I shook my head. "How is this even possible?"
Ira looked around with the same confusion I felt. "I've heard rumors."
"You've never been here?"
"No." His eyes lingered on the ancient trees. "I didn't think the rumors were true."
For the first time since we'd met, Ira genuinely looked surprised.
I knelt beside the lake. The water was perfectly clear. Tiny silver fish drifted lazily beneath the surface. When I reached toward the water—
"Don't."
I stopped immediately. Ira's voice wasn't loud, but it carried enough warning that I withdrew my hand without hesitation.
"What?"
"We don't know what anything here is."
"...Right."
Good point. Considering the shadow wolf downstairs, the fish might eat me. I decided not to test the theory.
As we followed the stone path deeper into the garden, something began bothering me. It was too quiet. No insects. No birdsong. No distant sounds from the city below. Only the occasional ripple across the lake. It felt less like standing inside nature and more like standing inside a *memory* of nature. Beautiful. Peaceful. Unnaturally perfect.
Even my enhanced senses struggled to process the place. The overwhelming flood of information that normally accompanied Transfiguration had vanished. Instead, I sensed only one thing—an immense, tranquil presence surrounding the entire garden. Not oppressive. Not threatening.
Simply ancient.
Then I saw it.
At the center of the garden stood a single building. Small. Elegant. Built almost entirely from dark wood and pale stone, its curved roof resembling the architecture of a temple far older than anything in the modern world. Time itself seemed unable to touch it—the wooden pillars showed no signs of decay, the stone foundation remained flawless, soft lanterns illuminated the entrance despite no one tending them. The building didn't belong inside a skyscraper. If anything, the skyscraper looked like it had been built around it.
I stopped walking. "...That shouldn't exist."
"I know." Ira's voice was barely audible.
The closer we looked, the stranger it became. Ancient symbols carved into the wooden beams—not a language I recognized, yet somehow familiar. The surrounding trees grew in a perfect circle around the building, as though respecting an invisible boundary. Even the moonlight seemed brighter there.
I activated Transfiguration once more. The moment my senses touched the building—
I staggered backward.
My vision blurred. For a fraction of a second, I saw something impossible. The garden vanished. The skyscraper vanished. The city vanished. In their place stood an endless landscape beneath a sky filled with unfamiliar stars, ancient mountains stretching across the horizon, gigantic trees reaching into the heavens.
Then everything returned to normal.
I caught myself before falling. "You alright?"
I blinked several times. "...Yeah."
"You don't sound convincing."
I looked back at the building. "...I think it just looked at me."
Ira followed my gaze. For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said the one sentence I never expected to hear from him.
"I have no idea what that is."
We resumed walking. Slowly. Carefully. Every step toward the ancient building felt heavier than the last.
The laboratories. The archives. The executives. The impossible powerhouses hidden within this skyscraper—they all suddenly seemed insignificant. Whatever waited inside that ancient structure, it was the true heart of this organization.
Somewhere deep inside, I understood.
Everything we'd done tonight—sneaking through checkpoints, avoiding monsters disguised as humans, risking our lives to reach the top—that had only been the beginning.
The infiltration mission was over.
The real mission was about to begin.