Chapter 62: The Riot and the Rat

  The lights went out, and the Oubliette remembered it was full of monsters.

  The silence that follows the explosion of the dampener grid lasts exactly three seconds. Then, the screaming starts. It is the wet, chaotic shriek of a thousand biological experiments realizing the lab coats aren't looking anymore.

  I move immediately. While Jarek rallies the prisoners in our block—his voice cracking with newfound authority as he points toward the exit—I am already sprinting down the corridor.

  The red emergency crystals pulsate like an infected heartbeat on the walls. Wardens shout, their amplified voices battling against the rising roar of the riot.

  "Sector 4 Breach! Dampeners offline! Containment failing!"

  I skid around a corner and nearly run into… something.

  It is a crime against anatomy. It looks like a man turned inside out, his exposed organs made of bioluminescent glass that pulses with a sickly light. He has four arms, two of which end in weeping, crystalline spikes.

  Further down, I see a woman whose jaw has unhinged and expanded, her face a floating cloud of gnashing teeth and anxiety, chewing through a Warden’s helmet like tinfoil.

  "The Dream-Matter," I realize, ducking under a spray of acidic bile from a third prisoner whose skin has turned into shifting masonry. "It rewrote them."

  These are the waste products of the Spire’s industry. And they are angry.

  I check my Kensho (15). The facility is a kaleidoscope of violence. But amidst the chaos, high above the screaming, I feel the resonance of my gear.

  It is three floors up. The Intake Vault.

  I hit the stairwell. It is blocked.

  A phalanx of Wardens stands on the landing above. These are Enforcers. They wear heavy, full-plate armor etched with glowing blue runes that hum with defensive power. Their helmets are fully enclosed, the eye-slits glowing with the pale white light of True Sight enchantments.

  [Entity: Spire Enforcer]

  [Magnitude: Unstable]

  The tag flickers red. Unstable. That means the gap between us is over 50 points. If I fight them, I die. It is that simple.

  They hold the line, firing wands of suppression down the stairs, blasting anything that moves with waves of crushing force.

  I press my back against the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I possess only 11.2 Lumen and a piece of scrap iron. I am the squishiest thing in a blender filled with rocks.

  "I can't break that line," I whisper, wiping sweat and soot from my eyes. "But I know someone who can."

  I look back down the corridor. A mob of prisoners—twisted chimeras and desperate, mutated men—surges toward me, looking for an exit.

  I step out into the middle of the hall. I pick up a heavy stone from the debris and hurl it at the Enforcers. It pings harmlessly off their armor, but it gets their attention.

  "They have the keys!" I scream at the mob, my voice cracking with desperate theatrics. I point up the stairs at the Enforcers. "The armored ones! They have the keys to the surface! Rip them apart or we burn down here!"

  The mob needs a target. They roar, a tide of flesh and rage, and surge past me.

  I flatten myself against the wall, making myself as small as possible. The glass-man brushes past me, his crystalline spikes slicing the air inches from my nose. The teeth-cloud floats by, gibbering madly.

  They hit the Enforcer line like a meat wave.

  Spells detonate. Bodies fly. The Enforcers hold their ground, their runic armor flaring as they butcher the first wave, but they are overwhelmed by the sheer mass of the riot.

  I use the slaughter.

  While the Enforcers fight for their lives, I activate Egress (15). I slip through the chaos, diving under swinging limbs and vaulting over corpses.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  A stray bolt of fire magic clips my shoulder.

  Hiss.

  It burns through my shirt and sears the skin. I grit my teeth, suppressing a scream. My Horizon takes the brunt of the shockwave, but the heat is real. The smell of my own burnt flesh hits my nose. I stumble, crashing into the railing, clutching my shoulder. My vision swims with black spots.

  "Move," I hiss to myself, forcing my legs to work. "Pain later. Loot now."

  I scramble up the last few steps, wheezing. The door to the Evidence Vault is just ahead.

  Two Enforcers guard it. They remain at their post to protect the assets. They see me—a ragged, bleeding prisoner stumbling out of the smoke.

  "Halt!" one shouts, leveling a spear tipped with crackling lightning.

  I skid to a stop. I am hurt, cornered, and outmatched. Direct combat is suicide. One hit from that spear and my nervous system will be fried.

  I look at them. Their armor glows brightly, drawing power from the wall. They are plugged in. Thick, crystalline umbilicals run from the wall sockets into the backs of their armor, feeding their defensive wards so they won't tire under the magical load.

  They are dependent on the grid.

  "Lazy," I wheeze, blood dripping from my nose onto the cold floor.

  I lunge for the crystal junction box on the wall where their cables connect.

  Static Spike.

  I push the Null-energy. I pour a solid chunk of my regenerated Lumen into the spell, treating the crystal interface like an open wound.

  ZZZ-CRACK.

  My Rank 1 spell lacks the strength to fry military-grade hardware, but it makes the energy taste bad.

  The grey, crackling Null-energy shoots down their cables. It hits their armor's rune-scheme.

  The magic stutters. The smooth blue glow of their wards flickers violently, turning a jagged, painful violet.

  It is the metaphysical equivalent of a strobe light flashing in their eyes. The sudden dissonance blasts through their helmets, disorienting them. They flinch, their hands flying to their heads as the feedback loop screeches in their ears.

  "Now!"

  I attack their balance.

  I drop into a slide. Using Kinetic Grasp, I pull the heavy, metal greaves of the right guard toward the left guard.

  Their feet tangle. In the heavy gravity of the Oubliette, combined with the weight of their armor and their sudden blindness, they go down hard.

  CLANG-CRUNCH.

  They hit the floor like falling statues. Before they can reboot their systems or untangle their limbs, I am past them.

  The Astrolabe chimes, a sharp note of approval cutting through the pain in my shoulder.

  [Remembrance Ability Improved: Static Spike]

  [Proficiency Increased: Level 4 -> Level 5]

  [Insight: Resonance Inversion. You have learned to turn a system's power against its user.]

  I keep moving. I slam into the vault door. It is locked. Physical tumblers and a magical seal.

  My hands are shaking. My vision is swimming.

  "Open," I snarl.

  I place my left hand on the lock. Kinetic Grasp. I apply torque directly to the shear line until the steel pins snap with a loud pop.

  I slam my right hand onto the glowing rune. Static Spike.

  The enhanced Null-resonance tears through the mana weave like acid through lace. The rune fractures and dissolves.

  The door groans and swings open.

  I fall inside, collapsing onto the cool floor.

  There they are. Sitting on a shelf labeled Subject 894. My Slipstream Duster. My Void-Knife. And the Wayfarer's Sash.

  But next to my shelf are dozens of other shelves. Crates of confiscated potions. Boxes of raw mana-crystals. Weapons taken from other heretics.

  There is no time to sort, check the stats, or be picky.

  I crawl forward, ignoring the screaming in my shoulder. I open my Locus.

  I sweep my arm across the shelves. I touch the items and trigger the Stasis command.

  Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.

  Crates of unknown crystals? Stored.

  A rack of glowing spears? Stored.

  My own gear? Stored.

  A box of what looks like dried newt eyes? Stored.

  I shove reality into my soul until I feel the metaphysical pressure build behind my eyes. I clean the room out like a vacuum.

  Then, I grab the Wayfarer's Sash from where I've just deposited it in the Locus and materialize it in my hands. I rip open the physical pocket—the dimensional flap built into the belt itself.

  "Please," I whisper, my fingers fumbling with the clasp. "Don't be broken."

  I find them. My stash of healing draughts.

  I pop the cork on one and down it. It tastes like copper and cherries. A wave of artificial heat rushes through me, knitting the burn on my shoulder and clearing the concussion fog in my head.

  I let out a long, shuddering breath. The pain recedes to a dull throb.

  I stand up and pull on the Duster. The coat seals around me, slick and comforting. The friction of the world vanishes.

  "Okay," I whisper, clipping on the Sash and the Knife. I feel the weight of my gear settle against me. It feels like putting on a second skin. "Now I'm dressed for the occasion."

  I walk back to the door and look out.

  The two Enforcers I tripped are getting back up, their armor rebooting.

  But down the hall...

  The riot is failing.

  The glass-man lies shattered on the steps. The teeth-cloud has been dissipated by a concussive blast. The Enforcers on the landing have formed a shield wall and are methodically advancing, their spears flashing with lethal precision. They are grinding the prisoners into paste.

  "They are dying," I realize, a cold pit forming in my stomach.

  I see Jarek in the back, trying to pull a wounded man with scales to safety, terror etched on his face.

  I want to help. I want to be the hero.

  But I look at the Enforcers. Unstable Magnitude. There are six of them.

  If I step in, I save no one. I’d just be another stain on the stairs.

  "I'm sorry,"

  I turn away from the slaughter. I turn toward the elevator shaft. The shaft is a dark throat leading straight down into the bowels of the mountain.

  To the Aggregate Pit.

  "Hang on, big guy," I say, my voice echoing in the shaft. "I'm coming."

  I jump.