APEX RISING

Chapter seven: the organization

 The woman’s glare burned with frustration, but the blind man’s voice cut through the tension, calm and authoritative.

“That’s enough.”

Without waiting for argument, he gestured for her to release Damian. Chains clinked as Damian was freed and helped to his feet.

Ignoring the woman’s protests, the blind man turned and began walking away. “You’re coming with me.” He said to Damian

Damian’s anger flared immediately. “Explain to me what the hell is going on! Who are you? What do you want from me?”

The blind man stopped, turning slowly with a soft smile. “Calm yourself. I’m not your enemy.”

He extended a hand. “I’m Takeda. And I know what you’ve been through.”

Damian opened his mouth to reply, but Takeda cut him off, voice steady and eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

“You’re Damian. The boy who lost everything in that terrible accident, thirteen years ago. The family who died in front of your eyes.”

Damian’s heart skipped. “How do you—?”

Takeda’s smile deepened. “Because, we all owe thanks to one man. One you know very well. “he said walking into a small office, Damian few steps behind.

With a click, Takeda pressed a remote. The wall behind him flickered to life, revealing a large, clear image of a man with golden eyes — Malcolm.

Damian’s blood ran cold. Rage and fear collided in his chest, the old wound opening anew.

“How do you know him?” Damian’s voice cracked, barely controlled fury spilling out.

Takeda’s expression darkened. “Because he’s the man who killed your family—and the man who stole my sight.”

Takeda stood from behind his desk, the light behind him casting long shadows across the room. His face, though calm, radiated a quiet authority.

“You’re not here by accident, Damian,” he said, walking slowly toward a panel on the far wall. “You were brought here because you’re a survivor… and because you’ve seen the devil up close.”

He pressed his palm against the panel. With a soft hiss, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a glass window overlooking a vast subterranean facility. Damian stepped closer, his breath catching.

Below them, a sprawling operations floor buzzed with silent urgency. Dozens of agents moved between sleek terminals and weapon racks. Monitors tracked global activity, glowing with red pins and code. On one screen—Malcolm’s face.

“This,” Takeda said, turning toward him, “is the Obsidian Division. A black ops organization unacknowledged by any government, created with one purpose: to hunt, contain, or destroy Malcolm—whatever it takes.”

Damian stared in awe, his rage momentarily quieted by the sheer scale of what he was seeing.

“We don’t fully understand what Malcolm is,” Takeda continued. “We don’t know where he came from, or why he does the things he does. But we know he needs to be held accountable for everything he has done.”

Damian turned his head sharply. “Why me? Why show me this?”

Takeda’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Because you’ve seen him and lived. You’re proof that Malcolm bleeds. You carry his shadow, and perhaps… you’ll be the one to end it.”

A long silence followed. Damian’s fists clenched slowly at his sides. “Then teach me how.”

Takeda nodded. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes sense.”

…

Damian’s eyes wandered around the office.

Despite its modern elegance—soft lights embedded in the ceiling, polished floors, clean lines—there was something militant lurking beneath the surface. Every person they’d passed on the way in had a firearm holstered on their side, the kind that looked custom-built for something far more dangerous than man.

His gaze fell on a silver-plated handgun lying inside a transparent case on a nearby table. A chill ran through him.

Suddenly, a memory clawed its way up from the depths of his mind. That night. The blood. The rain. His father crawling from the wreckage. That scream.

BANG!

He saw it again—his father pulling the trigger, the bullet tearing through the left side of Malcolm’s face. He remembered the hope that bloomed in that second… and the horror that followed as Malcolm stood still, smiled, and his face began to regrow.

Damian took a step back, his voice sharp and urgent.

“You’re all armed... Why? Guns won’t kill him! I saw it—I saw it! My dad shot him in the face and he just… he just healed! Whatever that thing is, he’s not human!”

Takeda didn’t flinch. Instead, he chuckled softly, like a man watching a child discover fire for the first time.

“Oh… he’s human, alright,” Takeda said calmly, his hands resting on the head of his cane. “That’s what makes him so terrifying.”

Damian’s face twisted in confusion. “You’re lying. That thing couldn’t have been human.”

Takeda turned toward the far wall and pressed another button. A low hum followed, and the polished wood panels split silently down the middle, revealing a steel door—an elevator hidden seamlessly in the wall.

Without another word, Takeda tapped his cane against the floor, navigating with eerie precision toward the open lift. He pressed the button labeled “-3”, which lit up in cold red light.

“Come,” he said without looking back. “You want answers, don’t you? Then follow me. Things are about to get… interesting.”

Damian hesitated for a heartbeat, then stepped into the elevator. As the doors closed behind them with a quiet hiss, the elevator began its descent. Cold air drifted from vents above, and the lights dimmed slightly as they sank deeper underground.

He could feel it—the pressure, the anticipation—like the ground beneath them was hiding something the world was never meant to see.

…

The elevator descended in silence, the kind of silence that crept under your skin and made your heartbeat feel too loud. Damian stood beside the blind man, tension riding high in his chest.

He studied Takeda again.

The man’s posture was calm—composed even—but there was something else… a quiet edge, like steel wrapped in silk. Though he was blind, he carried himself with the confidence of someone who didn’t need eyes to see. That unnerved Damian more than he cared to admit.

Ding.

The elevator stopped. The doors parted with a hydraulic hiss, releasing a faint wave of sterile air. Damian stepped out and immediately noticed the shift.

The floor was smooth concrete, the lighting dim but focused—overhead spotlights creating pools of white illumination down the narrow hallway. The walls were darker here, reinforced. There were no windows. No noise. Just the buzz of electricity humming through the facility's veins.

Takeda led the way with purposeful strides. They passed through a biometric scanner, where Takeda placed his hand on a panel and murmured a voice code.

Access Granted. Welcome, Director Takeda.

The heavy blast doors opened with a slow mechanical grind.

Inside, Damian’s breath caught.

The room beyond wasn’t just a lab. It was a fortress. Dozens of people moved with urgency—scientists in lab coats reviewing data on holographic screens, agents in black gear loading weapons, armored suits locked into display cases against the wall. Surveillance monitors covered the far wall, displaying live feeds from cities Damian recognized—and others he didn’t.

Damian turned in a slow circle, absorbing everything.

This was no simple operation. This was war preparation.

“This is our reality,” Takeda said, breaking the silence. “Welcome to Division Thirteen.”

Damian’s eyes snapped back to him. “Division Thirteen…?”

Takeda nodded. “We are the ones standing between your world and his.”

He turned his head toward Damian, unblinking behind his dark shades.

“Our singular mission is to find and eliminate Malcolm—before he finishes what he started.”

Damian’s hands balled into fists. “Then what the hell are we still waiting for?”

Takeda gave a small smile. “Because Malcolm… has something in his possession that we do not fully understand.”

Damian froze.

Takeda walked to the center of the room where a massive table displayed a 3D rotating schematic of what looked like DNA intertwined with glowing blue threads. Damian had no idea what he was looking at—but it felt wrong. Corrupted.

“Thirteen years ago, your family wasn’t killed because of coincidence,” Takeda said. “You were targeted. And the man who did this has been MIA since then. And now we have reasons to believe that two days ago, he made contact with you.”

Damian stepped forward, his voice low. “Tell me what you know.”

Takeda turned his face toward him again. “I will. But once I do, Damian…”

He paused.

“There’s no going back.”