Chapter 63: The Wedge

  I move past the riot, slipping into the service corridors running like arteries alongside the main stairwell.

  The air here is cooler, smelling of ozone and lubricant. A checkpoint looms ahead—a blast door guarded by two Wardens checking biosignatures. They are jumpy, their wands raised at the shadows.

  I maintain my pace, adjusting the collar of the Slipstream Duster. I slump my shoulders, shifting my gait from an athletic sprint to the heavy, trudging walk of a mana-refinery technician. I tune the Veil: Guise of the Traveler. I project exhaustion, boredom, and low-level compliance.

  I walk right up to them.

  "Halt," one Warden barks, his voice wavering.

  I continue forward, eyes fixed on the path ahead. I tap the clipboard swiped from the vault against my leg and point a thumb back the way I came.

  "Pressure spike in Sector 4," I grumble, never breaking stride. "Ventilation linkage is jammed. Unless you want to breathe liquid mana, I suggest you let me clear the intake."

  The Warden hesitates, glancing at his partner. The chaos upstairs roars, a distant backdrop to my mundane irritation.

  He steps aside.

  I brush past them, exhaling only when the blast door hisses shut behind me.

  I descend. Level 5. The Observation Deck.

  The corridor lies empty, the emergency lights painting the walls in rhythmic pulses of red. I reach the heavy, alchemical glass window overlooking the central chamber.

  Below, the Nascency—the Titan—writhes in its cage. The Arcane Rods spark, preparing to punish it.

  I kneel by the window's frame. I focus entirely on the mechanism holding the glass in place.

  Reaching into my sash, I pull out the Abyssal Weaver’s Cord.

  I tie one end of the glowing purple rope to the primary locking clamp of the window frame using a tension hitch. I run the length of the cord across the floor, weaving it through the grate of the ventilation shaft I just exited.

  I pull it taut.

  Taking the Void-Knife, I jam the tip of the blade into the seal between the glass and the stone frame. I lean my weight into it. The Tyrant quality of the blade bites into the impossible hardness of the seal.

  Crack.

  A hairline fracture appears. A tiny, microscopic leak. The high-pressure mana from inside the chamber hisses out, singing a faint, whistling song.

  I withdraw the knife. Unclipping the Ever-Spring Flask, I pour a measure of water over the fracture, letting it seep into the crack.

  I stand up, checking the tension on the cord one last time. I leave the other end dangling in the vent, disappearing into the darkness below.

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  I turn and walk away.

  I reach the service elevator for the Sub-Basement. A squad of four Enforcers waits. Focused and alert, they remain in full lockdown mode, their shields interlocked, blocking the entire hallway.

  I adjust the Veil, trying to project Senior Officer.

  I step into the light.

  "Report," I bark, striding toward them.

  The lead Enforcer holds his ground, raising a crystal lens to his visor.

  "Unauthorized mana-signature," he states, his voice metallic. "Veil detected."

  He raises his spear. A beam of concussive force gathers at the tip.

  I drop the act.

  Egress.

  I run up the wall to my right, my boots gripping the smooth metal panels. I take three vertical steps, gaining height, then kick off, twisting in the air.

  The concussive beam tears through the space where I stood a moment ago, scorching the floor.

  I land on the ceiling pipes. The Slipstream Duster flares, zero-friction allowing me to slide along the conduit like an ice luge.

  "Fire!" the Enforcer shouts.

  Four spears track me. Bolts of lightning and force hammer the ceiling.

  I roll off the pipe, falling into a dive. While falling, I fire Kinetic Grasp behind me, pushing against the ceiling to accelerate my descent.

  I hit the floor in a slide, shooting under their interlocked shields. I see the surprise in their body language—they braced for an impact at chest height, not a slider at ankle level.

  I grab the lead Enforcer’s ankle while sliding past. Using his inertia as a pivot point, I swing around him, my momentum carrying me behind their line.

  They turn, trying to bring their heavy shields to bear, but I am already at the elevator doors.

  They are sealed.

  Picking the lock requires time I lack.

  I grab the manual override lever. It is rusted stuck.

  The Enforcers charge, a wall of steel and magic rushing toward me.

  I jam the Void-Knife into the lever mechanism. Pouring my Horizon into my arm, reinforcing the bone and muscle, I slam my hand down on the hilt.

  CRUNCH.

  The mechanism shears. The doors try to open, getting stuck halfway and jamming, leaving a three-foot gap.

  I squeeze through.

  A spear tip sparks against the closing metal, inches from my spine.

  I am in the shaft. I grab the cable, the friction-suit allowing me to slide down without burning my hands.

  The Astrolabe chimes, a sound vibrating in my bones.

  [CONJUNCTION ACHIEVED]

  [Starlight Points Awarded: 2]

  [Reason: The Narrow Pass. Overcoming a superior force through mobility and environment.]

  I ignore the points and slide.

  The air whistles past my ears, the darkness swallowing me.

  I hit the bottom of the shaft, kicking open the hatch of the stuck elevator car. I drop into the gloom of the Aggregate Pit.

  The landing jars my knees, but I ignore the ache. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

  It is quiet.

  Too quiet.

  The Aggregate Pit should be a slaughterhouse. I left Vrex alone against the clay golems and the automated defenses. He is strong—stronger than anything natural—but he is one entity against a legion. Even stone breaks under enough pressure. Even mountains crumble.

  "Vrex?" I whisper, the name dying in the damp air.

  I step forward, my boots crunching on debris. The darkness is thick here, heavy with the smell of pulverized rock and ozone.

  I see a shape on the ground. A massive, jagged limb. My stomach turns over. It looks like an arm. A stone arm.

  No.

  I move faster, panic tightening my chest. I scan the shadows, desperate for movement. The floor is littered with rubble—mounds of gravel, shards of baked clay, and twisted metal. It looks like a quarry after a cave-in.

  If they broke him... if I left him down here to be dismantled piece by piece while I played thief upstairs...

  I reach the center of the carnage. The massive basalt wheel lies shattered. The chains hang loose. The clay golems are piles of dust.

  But where is he?

  I spin around, checking the corners, my heart hammering against my ribs.

  "Vrex!" I call out, louder this time, fear edging into my voice.

  A shadow shifts near the far wall. A pile of debris moves, stones cascading down with a clatter.

  Standing there, blending perfectly into the ruin, ignoring the deep scorch marks on his stone skin and the cracks running along his shoulder, is Vrex.

  He looks up as I approach, his glowing eyes dim but steady.

  "The Wizards built a cage for magic," Vrex rumbles, his voice echoing off the damp walls.

  He kicks a piece of a shattered golem, turning it to dust.

  "They forgot to build one for rocks."