Fog like poisoned breath seeped under the lift floor, staining the air with slow ruin. Into the farthest edge Silas shoved his body, each gasp sharp, uneven, too loud. Low down Axiom stayed, still as a blade wound tight - only now the storm inside him flickered, dimming between one pulse and the next.
Eyes on Kaelen, Vance stood still. That massive soldier from Argent kept his gore-slicked chain-sword propped up, relaxed like it weighed nothing. From either side, the underlings held their crackling rifles pointed right at Vance's heart - unmoving, waiting only for a signal.
A throb pulsed deep inside Vance's rebuilt right foot, dragging memory back to the decade and a half he'd lost fixing it. Up through his leg it crawled, slow and sour. The left arm screamed under tension - wires biting into tissue like old teeth. Escape by force wasn't possible. Talking was all that remained. Across from him sat someone known throughout the Fracture for peeling Vanguard soldiers open while they still breathed.
"Ten seconds, kid," Kaelen called out. His voice carried effortlessly across the freezing staging area, bouncing off the armored corpses. "Drop the blade. Step out. Or my boys just melt the carriage and we sift through the slag."
Down went Vance's blade, made of carbon steel, inch by slow inch. Not tossed - placed inside the sheath with care. Weight shifted onto the good leg, stiff but holding. One step moved him past the elevator doors. Cold outside slapped his skin, sudden and raw, nothing like the deep chill burning behind his head.
Not melting the carriage matters right now, Kaelen, Vance thought. His voice stayed low and even, though tired bones pulled at every word he held back.
Something shifted in the mercenary captain's gaze. His smirk dropped like a stone. Men from the edge zones rarely spoke a word about Argent vanguard leaders - much less stood tall while saying their name.
Heavy in his grip, the chain-sword growled when Kaelen nudged the throttle. He narrowed his eyes. Name just one solid cause
Truth hid beneath the lie, Vance speaking calm though his pulse raced. The black site stayed sealed not for mutants but for something older, deeper. What mattered was making them believe it. He named the place they'd hunted across lifetimes - the Elysian Wastes - then watched their faces shift. Their search ended here, if only in story. Geographic ciphers don't break easily, yet he claimed they did. Silence followed, thick with possibility
One of the hired fighters gripped his arc-rifle tighter, muscles locking. Suddenly, Kaelen stood straighter, every trace of smug ease gone from his frame.
Out there, nobody believed in the Elysian Wastes - just stories about a hidden stretch ruled by thinking Eidolons. Yet for the Argent Cartel, that place meant everything. Their soldiers marched until they dropped, chasing whispers across dead terrain.
"The automated purge just wiped the main servers downstairs," Vance continued, taking another slow, agonizing step onto the polished concrete. "The neuro-toxin is filling this shaft right now. The only copy of those coordinates left in this entire facility is locked inside my head. I memorized the directory before the Cartel spy hiding behind me fried the terminal."
A sharp, broken sound escaped Silas between those closing doors - Vance did not turn. To stay alive meant cutting every softness away.
Staring hard, Kaelen took in the young face - nineteen, battered, blood trickling down one cheek. That worn-out coat made of rough canvas caught the captain's eye first. Then came the thick coils gripping the left arm, humming faintly with stored charge. Beside him loomed a creature, huge and spent, muscles trembling from long effort.
"You're a long way from the outer sectors, kid," Kaelen muttered, lowering the chain-sword by a fraction of an inch. "If you're bluffing, I'll peel the skin off your ribs while you watch."
"If I'm bluffing, you lose nothing," Vance countered. His heart hammered against the dormant golden gear hidden in his chest. "Give me safe passage out of the Citadel's airspace on one of those dropships, and I'll map the route for you."
Wind screamed beyond the walls. Hiss of escaping gas crept up Vance's back. Silence hung thick, sharp. A single wrong move could trigger the rifles. Kaelen might see through it - then everything collapses right here, where old stains mark the concrete.
Out of nowhere, Kaelen lifted one hand, calm but firm. His signal hit home - weapons dipped, fingers easing off triggers. Light bled out from the plasma coils, fading like breath on glass.
"Get him on the ship," Kaelen ordered, a hungry, ambitious gleam replacing the suspicion in his eyes. "We'll see exactly how good his memory is."
Fog hung at the edges of his thoughts. Still - feet moved without orders. Escape wasn't promised, yet boots found the doorframe. Silence followed behind like something watching.
Foot hitting the ground for a third time, Vance froze when fire ripped through his neck's hidden mark. The world narrowed to pain - sharp, sudden - as the silver ships waited just ahead.
This pain felt different. Not slow or quiet but sharp, alive - cracking through like lightning in dry bones.
Out of nowhere, the hulking remains of fallen Vanguard troops on the hangar deck shivered. Though still lifeless, their metal-plated bodies jerked as if something beneath had stirred.
A sharp turn brought Kaelen face-to-face with danger, his chain-sword snapping into position as an oath burst out. Though stunned, the pair of hired fighters lifted their arc-rifles - yet they stumbled backward, lost in bewilderment.
Faces down in the dirt, the bodies moved without walking. Pulled by unseen hands, they left trails behind them.
A sudden pull dragged the heavy suits inward, yanking them fast into the middle. From nowhere, the shriek of tough plating grinding on rough floor echoed deep inside. Twisted metal and split bones stacked up there - limbs bent wrong, heads cracked open.
Faster than a shadow moves, the heap started pressing into itself.
A glow, violet and sharp, burst from the dented core of the broken plating - so fierce that warped silhouettes clawed across the metal walls. Instead of collapsing, the wreckage folded tighter, drawn by unseen force into a round, heavy lump where metal met splintered structure.
A sound came out of the floating purple ball - soft, musical, yet somehow chilling. It was a woman s voice, but not spoken aloud. Instead it filled each person's head at once, clear as breath. The words did not travel through air. They simply appeared, inside thoughts. Light hummed around the edges of silence. No lips moved, still everyone heard.
"Did you really think a steel box could hide you from me, little thief?"
A burst came from the sphere, not sharp pieces flying out, yet six huge wings made of darkness spread wide. From stillness, motion - shadows stretching like arms too large for any sky.