The warped: Dark seed saga

The parking lot of the arcades lacked the usual hustle and bustle rowan was used to seeing in the evenings. Only a few regulars ever stopped by this early in the morning.

The only sound was the rhythmic tapping of rain against the windshield, blurring the neon lights of the VRcade into streaks of color. Across the lot, the burnt shell of Mimi's Café loomed, skeletal and blackened, barely standing after the fire had swallowed it whole.

Lila stared at it.

Something was wrong.

She didn't know why, didn't know how—but she could feel it twisting beneath her ribs, coiling in a way that wasn't just paranoia.

Rowan shut the car door, stretching her arms over her head. She exhaled, rolling her shoulders, already at ease. She trusted reality. Lila did not.

"I'm gonna check in, send them home early," Rowan said, shaking out her limbs. "There's a landline in there—we can call Aiden once I'm done."

Lila barely heard her. Her focus was locked on the ruins across the lot.

Something inside was watching.

"Lila?"

She blinked, snapping out of it. "Yeah. Yeah, go ahead."

The rain drummed against the windshield, soft but unrelenting. Lila's gaze remained locked on the charred ruins across the lot.

Mimi's Café.

She didn't know why it called to her. Didn't know why it felt like something was staring back.

But she knew the feeling wouldn't go away.

"You're thinking about going over there, aren't you?" Rowan's voice cut through the silence.

Lila blinked, forcing herself back into the moment.

Still, Rowan knew.

Lila hesitated. "I was just—"

"Lila." Rowan sighed, finally turning to face her, arms crossing. "You're pregnant. You don't go wandering into burnt-out, abandoned buildings alone. That's how horror movies start, and I'm not starring in a 'pregnant woman gets murdered in a serial killer hideout' feature tonight."

Lila frowned. "That's a really specific movie."

"And yet," Rowan raised an eyebrow, "you're still thinking about doing it."

Lila stayed silent.

"Lila," Rowan's voice sharpened just slightly. Not scolding, not condescending—just final. "Stay in the damn car."

Lila hesitated, fingers twitching against her hoodie sleeve.

Rowan exhaled sharply. "Look, just stay here, okay? I'll be back before you know it."

She didn't want to stay.

But she nodded.

Rowan gave her a lingering look, one that said don't push this. Then, without another word, she stepped into the arcade, the door swinging shut behind her.

Lila gripped the steering wheel.

The feeling didn't fade.

She had felt it before—the pulse of something old pressing against the edges of her mind, the same way it had in the Otherworld.

But this wasn't the Otherworld.

This was home.

She forced herself to breathe.

And still, the feeling didn't leave.

She opened the car door.

The air was thick with the ghost of something burned away. Grease. Smoke. The bitter memory of something once sweet.

But beyond that—

Something alive.

She took a step forward. Then another.

Each movement felt inevitable, like she was stepping back into a memory she had longed to be forgotten.

She reached the edge of the ruins, boots crunching against loose debris. The walls were caved inward, beams twisted and collapsed—but the feeling inside was whole.

Something remained.

A presence.

Her fingers twitched toward the charred doorway.

One more step—

A hand caught her wrist.

Lila spun, heart slamming against her ribs.

Rowan.

Her grip was firm but not harsh, her expression carefully neutral.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Lila blinked, reorienting herself. "I just—"

"I found the phone," Rowan said, but she didn't let go. "Come inside where it's safe."

Safe.

Lila wanted to argue. But Rowan's expression stayed firm—not scolding, not dismissive, just unmovable.

After a beat, Lila exhaled, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. Fine.

Rowan nodded, releasing her wrist. "C'mon."

As they walked toward the arcade, the glass doors hissed softly as they slid open, spilling warm light onto the rain-slick pavement.

Two straggling employees waved goodbye as they stepped out, chatting about something unimportant.

But Lila barely noticed them.

Her attention caught on a lone figure leaning against the farthest edge of the parking lot.

A street racer.

A Toyota MR2, stripped interior, full roll cage. Clean, but well-worn—a car that had seen races.

And the driver?

A guy with long, damp emo hair that hung over his face, obscuring his eyes.

He didn't move. Didn't speak.

Didn't look at them.

Just stood there, hands in his hoodie pockets, rain trickling down the edges of his sleeves.

Lila shivered.

Rowan nudged her inside before she could dwell on it.

The doors sealed shut behind them.

Eri tensed.

She had been watching them approach, but now that they were here—

Something was different.

She pressed a hand to the soot-covered floor, grounding herself. The shadows in her veins twisted.

Those two girls.

They shouldn't be here.

This wasn't how it happened.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

Her breath was slow, measured—but inside, she was spiraling.

Mephisto waltzed his way across from her, lounging against a broken counter like he belonged there. He had never belonged anywhere—and yet, he always fit.

Unlike her, he wasn't surprised.

Eri finally turned, locking eyes with him. "They shouldn't be here."

Mephisto, ever the spectator, offered a small, unreadable smile. "Oh?"

"This—" Eri exhaled sharply, barely keeping the shake from her voice. "This isn't right."

Mephisto tilted his head, amused. "And how would you know, my queen?"

Eri's fists clenched. "Because the first time, she never met them."

The words felt wrong in her own mouth, like uttering them was breaking something unseen.

Mephisto's grin stretched, slow, delighted.

"Fascinating," he murmured.

Mephisto stretched lazily, trailing a finger through the soot on the counter—absentmindedly tracing patterns.

"Have you ever considered," he mused, "that we were never meant to watch?"

Eri narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Mephisto's gaze flicked toward the arcade, toward Lila and Rowan disappearing inside.

"You think observing keeps you safe," he murmured. "You think that because you've seen it all before, because you know the outcome, you hold control."

His eyes gleamed.

"But what happens when the mere act of watching changes what you see?"

The silence between them stretched.

Eri's breath was steady, but her mind was fracturing under the weight of the implications.

This wasn't a repeat of the first time.

This was something new.

Mephisto leaned forward. "Your presence alone is enough to alter the script. But you know as well as I do—" his smile sharpened, "—that won't be enough to change her fate."

Eri's pulse thrummed.

She hated when he was right.

She forced herself to focus, to regain control.

"We need to get back to training her." Her voice was firm. Final. Desperate.

Mephisto exhaled a long, exaggerated sigh, but she caught something in his expression—a flicker of boredom perhaps.

"And so we return to the program," he murmured. "Predictable."

"Not this time," Eri didn't rise to the bait."This time, I make sure she becomes what she was always meant to be."

She turned away from the window, away from the arcade. She would not allow this uncertainty to claw away at her chest.

Not now.

Not when they were so close.

Then—the front door creaked open.

Boots scuffed against the warped, waterlogged tile.

Eri turned.

And froze.

The street racer strolled in, rain trailing from his jacket, long, damp emo hair still hanging over his face.

His hands were in his pockets. His stance was loose, easy.

But when he finally looked up—

His eyes burned red.

The racer didn't flinch under her scrutiny. Didn't hesitate. Didn't break his stride.

Instead, he walked past her—straight toward Mephisto.

Then—

He bowed.

Low. Respectful. Rehearsed.

"Reporting in," he murmured. His voice was smooth, controlled. Not human. Not anymore.

Mephisto grinned.

"Ah," he mused, stretching his arms behind his head, utterly unbothered. "Right on schedule."

Her presence wasn't the only thing that had altered the script.

The players had already changed.

And somewhere, deep in the fabric of fate—something had started to unravel.