The Secretary's God-Tier Glitch

Chapter 8: On the Run from Reality

The dust was still settling over the smoldering crater that had been a corporate office building. Sirens wailed in the distance, a chaotic symphony of emergency vehicles converging on the wreckage.

"We have to move," Arka said, his voice taut. He wiped a smear of soot from his cheek, his violet eyes scanning the perimeter. "The local authorities are already here, and the Void-stalkers will be right behind them."

Bimo stared at the ruins, clutching his side. "My stapler is under there, Arka. And my favorite ergonomic chair. I worked so hard for that lumbar support."

"Bimo, if you don't start running, you’re going to be a martyr for a failed Q3 report."

"Fine, fine. Where are we going? Not the station. I’m pretty sure my face is on every 'Wanted' poster in the tri-state area by now."

"To the Sanctuary. It’s a hole-in-the-wall near the docks. No one looks for heroes in the slums."

*

The safehouse was a windowless, concrete box that smelled of damp mold and old electricity. Bimo slumped against the singular twin bed, his head throbbing.

"One bed, Arka? Really? Are we in a bad indie rom-com?"

Arka tossed his heavy pauldrons onto the floor, the metal clanging against the thin linoleum. "It’s a safehouse, not a luxury suite. Sit down and stop pacing. You’re radiating anxiety."

"I’m homeless, I’m unemployed, and I’m pretty sure I just nuked my own pension plan. Sorry if I’m not exactly 'Zen'."

"You’re a headache. You’re a liability. And yet, you’re the only thing keeping the veil from ripping open."

"Thanks. I feel so empowered. Can I get a gold star for saving the world while I’m at it?"

Arka walked over, looming over Bimo. The dim light caught the sharp lines of his face. "I don’t care about your gold stars. I care that you’re alive. Stay close. Don't wander."

"Are you worried about me, or just the gauntlet?"

"Does it matter?"

"It matters to me. I’m the one attached to the glove, remember?"

Ding!

[SYSTEM ALERT: MANA DEPLETION DETECTED. SYNERGY PROTOCOL ACTIVATED: 'CO-OP CONNECTION'.]

Bimo blinked as a glowing blue screen materialized between them. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. 'Co-op Connection'? What is this, a dating app for mages?"

Arka’s eyes widened as he read the floating text. "It’s a forced sync. We’re dangerously low on mana, Bimo. If we don’t bridge our reserves, we’ll be defenseless when the next wave hits."

"Bridge? How? Do I have to sign something?"

"We have to touch, fool. Skin to skin. We need to lock our circulation to equalize the output."

"Touch? Like... holding hands?"

"It’s not for pleasure, it’s for survival! Sit down, take off your jacket, and give me your hand."

Bimo felt his face heat up, a stark contrast to the cold, damp room. "You’re really bossy for a guy who just stole my spare blanket."

"Bimo, the door is already warping. Someone is tracking us."

Bimo looked at the wooden door. The wood was turning black, bubbling as if touched by acid. "Fine. Whatever. Just... don't make it weird."

"It’s only weird if you make it weird. Just sit."

Bimo slid onto the bed, his heart doing a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs. He held out his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. Arka didn't hesitate; he caught Bimo’s hand in his own, his grip firm, calloused, and surprisingly warm.

The moment their skin met, a jolt of pure, golden electricity surged up Bimo’s arm, straight to his core.

"Whoa—Arka, that’s—that’s a lot!"

"Steady, Bimo! Don’t pull away! Direct the flow to the Gauntlet!"

"I’m trying! It feels like I’m plugging my soul into an industrial-sized outlet!"

Arka moved closer, his other hand coming up to steady Bimo’s shoulder. The proximity was suffocating. Bimo could smell the scent of old iron, ozone, and something sharp—like cedar.

"You’re doing it," Arka whispered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly hum. "Keep your focus. Don't look at the screen. Look at me."

Bimo’s breath hitched. "It’s hard to focus when you’re being this intense."

"I’m trying to keep you from blowing up, Bimo. Stop overthinking."

"I’m a data analyst! Overthinking is my primary skill set!"

"Then think about this," Arka said, his eyes darkening. "If we die here, there’s no redo. No respawn."

Bimo looked into Arka’s violet eyes, and for a second, the world outside the room stopped. The fear, the System, the job—it all evaporated. "You’re really something, you know that?"

"And you’re an infuriating, brilliant, reckless idiot."

"Yeah. Well. That's me."

BOOM!

The floorboards buckled beneath them as a massive shockwave tore the roof off the safehouse. Dust rained down, and the wall disintegrated, revealing a towering, three-headed silhouette silhouetted against the night sky.

Bimo stood up, still locked to Arka’s hand, the golden energy between them flaring into a blinding beacon.

"So," Bimo shouted over the roar of the incoming fire, "I’m guessing that’s not the pizza guy?"

Arka drew his sword with his free hand, his expression lethal. "That is a Tier-5 Void Overlord. And he’s looking right at us."

"Do we have a Plan B?"

"Plan B is staying alive. Hold on tight, Bimo!"

The Overlord lunged, its massive limbs tearing through the building like paper, and Bimo realized with a jolt of horror that his hand was still firmly locked in Arka’s—and he really, really didn't want to let go.