Homecoming | sequel of "Home" [✔️]

Chapter 29

Drumming his fingers on the table, Ali could feel the subtle hum of electricity, the silent creak of metal on his chair. Around him, everything, everyone moved in slow motion, as if phasing through thick layers of gelatin, but movements were relaxed, unresistant.

He glanced down to the hatch, opening and revealing a long, pristine metal gateway that led straight down, his chair releasing straps that tied around his waist. He's only experienced it once, the time only revealed to him by unnatural circumstances.

Then he fell.

It wasn't mere plummeting, flailing as he fell to his death kind of fall; it was a force pulling down on a chair, increasing to the weight of gravity as he was pulled down.

He looked down, seeing the minimum silhouette of the iron floors. Instantly, the chair around him slowed, the straps easily undone by skilled hands. Ali hopped off the chair, hovering as he ensured he'd managed to return the chair to speeds that matched the world outside.

Steadily, he brought himself down to ground level, his boots touching the floor but not making any sound.

Ali took a deep breath to calm himself, closing his eyes as he brought himself into an empty mindscape, his conscious drifting to look for Fang's distinct shadow manipulation, a pulse he'd grown so familiar with throughout their time together.

Around him, the world's silence settled quieter, if that was possible. His own mind was silenced, no thoughts, only the clear, calm sea of the world around him remained. He stood in the middle of a phantom ocean, each ripple of power just like waves, whether it be small, or a large tide.

Instead, he felt as if someone had hit his brain with a frying pan, rattling his brain and collapsing him. He was overwhelmed by the signals he received, or rather, to him, perceived as an ocean of energy, crashing over him like a tidal wave, drowning him and pulling him under, to a world with chaos and the darkest parts of his mind.

Physically, he laid on the ground, clutching his head as he curled into a fetal position. There was no pain, but it was overwhelming, like water overfilling a bursting balloon, a river flowing into an already full pond.

His eyes were squeezed shut, tears threatening to spill. It was as if he's done a year's worth of math, formulas and information trying to clasp into his memory, but ultimately failing.

Stand up, he told himself, but even his voice seemed to be a whisper in a cold night's wind. Fang's still out there.

Eventually, the ringing in his ears subsided, the hum in his mind fading into silence. But now that he's aware of it, it was a nagging sense at the back of his mind, unwilling to go away, always calling him to distract him, but there was no source, like a target that was the room itself, that the world is his enemy.

He gathered himself and sat upright, gasping in surprise. His arms were weak from fear, his eyes darting around in confusion. There was no one, only a vast pathway to a larger entrance, the door to MATA's headquarters.

Ali gritted his teeth. He rose to his feet, wary of the time he spent writhing, but best he could do was make up for lost time. He sprinted through the space, nothing reacting, no sound indicated they were aware.

He touched the huge doors, which they opened with a hiss, responding to their time restored.

His eyes widened when he saw what was inside.

Everything was normal, yes, but it was the state of the agents themselves that shocked him. Slowing time was one of his abilities, but stopping it was impossible for him to accomplish. Yet as he stared, the agents' movements were completely stopped, as if someone had pushed the pause button for a movie.