The Immortals of Notoriouslandia
Chapter Three: Break the Chains
The gates of BBC Prison loomed like a wound in the earth—vast, black, and alive. It pulsed with energy that reeked of control, of minds rewritten and wills erased. The air buzzed like it hated freedom.
Monday stood at the threshold.
But he didn't step through.
The prison reached for him.
Tendrils of shadow—slick and hissing—shot from the ground and wrapped his limbs. Before he could react, his body was paralyzed, suspended midair. His power sparked and flared, but something interfered. Something deeper than power.
It was Septiceye's will.
"I see you, little god-seed.""Did you think I wouldn't smell the stink of the Immortals on you?""You should've stayed in hiding. You should've stayed weak."
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He awoke inside Sublevel 9—the Warden's Maw, the deepest part of BBC Prison. Chains of thought-iron bound him to a wall of living obsidian. The room screamed without sound. Every wall blinked with twitching eyes, mouths sewn shut by wire. Other prisoners hung in the air like forgotten ideas—some twitching, some limp, all broken.
Septiceye appeared—not walking, but forming, like mold blooming.
He leaned close, his face a writhing mesh of faces.
"They made you their last spark.""I will crush that spark and drink the ash."
Monday didn't respond.
He focused.
Even as needles of anti-thought pierced his mind, even as illusions swirled around him, he listened—not to Septiceye, but to everything else. The walls whispered. The prisoners wept behind their silence.
He reached inward.
And the Immortals answered.
Arthur's fire ignited his blood.
Technical's brilliance surged through his mind like circuits screaming awake.
Lux's gravity bent the room.
The chains snapped.
The psychic blast tore the cell apart.
Sirens howled. Septiceye shrieked, his form momentarily destabilized—an ooze of screaming mouths and fractal wings. Monday vanished in a blink of light.
He ran through the prison corridors, unleashing his power in precise pulses—crushing walls, bending doors open, disarming guards twisted into cyber-slaves. As he moved, he found others.
Prisoners.
Survivors.
Zeke, who could turn his body into spectral mist and flow through walls.
Vera, who manipulated sound like a sculptor, using echoes as blades.
Bruno, a living juggernaut with the skin of diamond and fists that shattered machines like porcelain.
All had been captured by Septiceye. All had resisted. All were waiting for someone.
Monday was that someone.
"We're getting out," Monday said, his voice crackling with raw purpose."We're not just escaping," Vera growled. "We're ending this."
They carved a path through the prison like a storm through rot. Each prisoner found their fire again. Every wall they broke whispered a truth: Septiceye feared them. Feared what he couldn't control. Feared hope.
By dawn, they stood atop the outer wall of BBC Prison.
Beyond the gates was the ruined city.
Above them, the sky churned red.
And before them…
Septiceye waited.
His body was a mountain of evolving flesh and shadow, shifting with every breath. Wings of molten glass. Arms of smoke. A head that became many, each face snarling.
Behind him, his army waited—mind-controlled citizens, twisted beasts of tech and soul, corrupted heroes of the past.
Monday stepped forward.
Zeke misted beside him.
Vera cracked her knuckles, and the air trembled with sonic tension.
Bruno punched his fists together, creating a shockwave.
They were outnumbered.
They were underpowered.
They were free.
And they would fight.
The ground trembled as the two sides faced each other.
And then Septiceye spoke.
"Welcome to the end."
To be continued...