The night air of Mica City was thick with exhaust fumes and distant sirens. Perched like gargoyles high in the skeletal branches of a century-old oak overlooking the electrified perimeter of the Marchioness's estate, A'Dunce and his team waited, their dark clothing blending with the shadows.
"…Bro, keep it down," hissed one guard below, his voice barely audible over the ambient city hum. "If the big boss hears you complainin' 'bout her, you're fried."
"Pfsh! Boss lady's burnin' through the family fortune faster than a supercar on nitro. Can't even afford decent security anymore. If she stiffs me on this paycheck? I'm outta here. Landin' a driver gig at the Marchioness's place… *that's* the dream. You see how those guys swagger? Like they own half the district, actin' all fancy in their uniforms."
"Yeah, yeah, dream on," the other guard grumbled. "Pay's better there, sure. Marchioness's got vaults fulla creds. Dogs wearin' armor, that's what they are."
A'Dunce turned to his team, his cybernetic eye implant enhancing the distant activity. "Sounds like the Marchioness threw a party. Those drivers were guests' people."
Rock, the team leader, stroked his chin, calculating. "Party time means tighter security. We wait. When the last rich airhead drives off, the guards'll slack. That's our window to move in, find the target." His gaze scanned the floodlit grounds beyond the imposing spiked fence.
Cloud nodded curtly, moonlight catching the determined glint in her eyes. "Agreed. We wait." Ryne, restless beside them, shifted impatiently. The four became statues on their high perch.
Two hours crawled by. The skyline behind them pulsed with artificial light. Ryne was vibrating with barely contained energy when, finally, the heavy reinforced gates of the main building groaned open. A light-show worthy drawbridge lowered. Laughter, thick with synthetic spirits, spilled out as a stream of elegantly wasted figures – men and women in designer fatigues or shimmering formal wear – stumbled into the cool night air.
"Showtime," Rock murmured. The team snapped to alertness.
Guards herded the nobles into waiting hover-limos. The estate plunged back into artificial quiet. Guard patrols thinned, floodlights dimmed by half. Rock's voice was low and firm. "Go. Now."
They descended like shadows and pulled on sleek, nanoweave-infused cloaks designed to distort thermal signatures. Hunkered in the cover of decorative hedges near the wall, A'Dunce gestured. "I go first." His mastery over the Celial Pulse energy made him the best point. He moved – not a leap, but a controlled descent powered by energy manipulation, landing like a ghost atop the spiked fence. He scanned the manicured grounds, motion sensors silent. A silent wave to the others.
Rock, Ryne, and Cloud followed, landing beside him just as a patrol rounded a sculptured fountain. They dived into a cluster of alien-looking ferns. Ryne started to shift, but A'Dunce's hand clamped down on his arm.
A'Dunce pointed downwards. A near-invisible fiber optic tripwire, lined with micro-vibrational sensors, glinted faintly in the starlight.
"This place is a spider's web," Rock breathed. "Stay sharp."
A'Dunce's mind-sent impulses cut through the silence. *Rock, guards look weak. We could fight our way in?*
Before Rock could answer, Cloud's reply was sharp, laced with the memory of past disasters. *No! Remember the Black City? The cops? She owns half the damn city council and has private armies on speed dial. If we kick the hornets' nest? We're trapped.*
A'Dunce grimaced but nodded. *Fine. Slow it is.*
Rock's mental tone was calmer. *Besides, a dragon like her wouldn't rely *just* on rent-a-cops. The real nasties are inside the nest. Stealth extraction is best.*
A'Dunce's jaw clenched, a familiar coldness settling in his core. *Every one of these Sunset Empire vipers is rotten. Wonder how many souls she's crushed.*
A flicker of concern crossed Rock's features at the hint of ice in A'Dunce's thoughts. "Move. A'Dunce, point. Eyes sharp."
A'Dunce slid forward, his senses dialed to eleven. The opulent gardens were a deathtrap. Pressure plates hidden under fake moss carpets. Laser grids crisscrossing decorative archways. Sonic emitters disguised as garden speakers. His enhanced perception was their lifeline. Half an hour of nerve-wracking navigation brought them to the lip of the shimmering moat surrounding the central tower, a brutalist structure draped in shadow save for a single blazing window high up.
"Look," A'Dunce murmured, pointing. "Single light on top. Command suite."
Rock followed the line of sight, nodding grimly. "Likely hers."
"I'm going up. Cover me." A'Dunce shed his cloak, revealing his segmented midnight-black vibranium-alloy armor – a relic with an ugly past.
"Just eyes," Rock stressed, a hand on A'Dunce's shoulder. "If it blows, we bail. Regroup. Got it?"
A'Dunce nodded. Slipping past the final patrol sweep, he propelled himself across the moat. At the edge of the far bank, another tripwire flared in his peripheral vision. A surge of energy burst backwards from his palms, twisting his trajectory mid-air to slam hard against the ferrocrete tower wall. Fingers crackling with controlled force, he gripped the solid surface, climbing silent and fast towards the bright window. Below, the guards remained oblivious.
He peered in – a sprawling penthouse suite. Polished black floors, minimalist furniture that screamed astronomical cost. The sound of running water came from beyond an arched alcove. A patrol hover-craft approached below. Heart thumping against his ribs, A'Dunce slid the reinforced window open and ghosted inside.
The suite was warm, thick with expensive, musky perfume. The centerpiece was a round fusion-glass bed covered in shimmering gold silk. A'Dunce moved soundlessly towards the alcove. Inside, steam billowed. Through the slightly ajar door, he saw her – Argent, the Marchioness herself – reclining in an obsidian jetted tub. Age had touched her, softening edges, adding lines around eyes that still held a predatory sparkle. She was clearly a woman who had been stunning, now maintained through wealth and a dark hunger.
A'Dunce pressed against the cool wall, heat flushing his neck. Was that her?
Suddenly, the spirit-tech cuff beneath his armor sleeve grew warm. Footsteps – multiple, approaching fast outside the suite door.
A resonant knock. "Madam Argent. The package has arrived."
Water sloshed as Argent rose, wrapping herself in a thick, black towel, dark hair slick against her shoulders. She moved into the main suite, her voice a hypnotic, low purr. "Enter."
Two heavily augmented enforcers carried in a figure cocooned in white synth-silk, only the head exposed. Sharp ears, sculpted features – a male Spirit-Walker, his face flushed, eyes screwed shut in desperate struggle, muscles straining against unseen bonds.
Argent's face lit with predatory delight. "Dosed?" she asked one enforcer, whose eyes lingered hungrily on her exposed skin.
"Full regimen, Madam," he rumbled, voice thick.
"Splendid. Bring him in here." She turned, padding back towards the bedroom. A'Dunce ducked into the main suite, scanning desperately. Only place: under the massive fusion-glass bed. He slid under just as the door hissed open. Six heavy boots entered. The bed groaned as the bundle was placed heavily upon it.
Argent's voice floated down. "Secure him. Tandor't want… unnecessary flailing." Synth-rope rasped as the restraints were tightened under the bedframe.
"Out," Argent commanded, ice edging the purr. A lingering glance from an enforcer earned a sharp, "Care to donate your optics to my collection?"
"N-no, Madam! Apologies!" Booted feet retreated hastily.
Silence settled. Then the dip of the bed as Argent joined her prize. "Oh, little treasure, I've missed you," she cooed. The Spirit-Walker's ragged breath was audible. "That nine million creds? Worth every coin. Such art… Such fire. And oh so… *hard* right now. The Synaphex they dosed you with… working wonders. Patience, dear. The peak is always sweeter…" Her voice dropped to a murmur, filled with false pity. "You fought *so* hard… called me a crone… I had them mute you, but that defiance… delicious. You're different. I'll keep you a lifetime, sweet thing. My little collection… the others? Mere toys. Played out fast. Greedy little fools wanting *my* fortune? They make such lovely… paperweights now. Hundreds. Immortalized…" A chilling chuckle. "Ah, you're straining… so eager. Shall we?" The bed began to shudder rhythmically.
Under the bed, A'Dunce's blood roared. *Paperweights…* meaning preserved body parts. Hundreds killed. The rhythmic thumping above was an obscenity. He couldn't wait. He slid out, surged upwards.
Argent was straddling the helpless Spirit-Walker. She glanced down, no surprise in her cold eyes. "Knew you slithered in. Perimeter sensors flagged your heat signature miles out. Too bad they missed… potential." Her gaze raked over his armored form. "Not classically handsome… but the build? Prime stock. And that armor…"
A'Dunce acted. White light coalesced around his fist – a solid hammer of Celial Pulse energy – aimed at Argent's spine.
She moved impossibly fast, twisting like liquid shadow. A translucent pink energy shield snapped around her outstretched hand. *CRACK!* The force reverberated. A'Dunce stumbled back, shocked. His concentrated blast had been… *absorbed*, deflected by some viscous force field that felt wrong.
Argent remained perched. "Oh, nice. Stronger than you look. Those mage-boys are usually pathetic sacks." She hadn't even broken position.
A'Dunce's hand flew to the neural port above his heart, where the *true* weapon resided – not a sword, but the corrupted, frostbite-inflicting micro-core salvaged from the legendary Shadow-King. Its chilling radiation washed over him.
Argent hissed, rolling fluidly off the bed and landing crouched nearby, pink energy rippling around her. "Ahh… *Death's Hand*. Little Felina whined about you. That core's sickening… but I'm not some easily startled cub. Tandor't think you can control its backlash without crisping your prize."
Before A'Dunce could react, Argent *blurred*. She lunged, fingers tipped with faint pink claws aiming for pressure points. A'Dunce threw up a hexagonal shield of solidified energy. *THOOM!* Argent struck it, then recoiled, her energy field flickering erratically as the solid defense shattered her fluid assault.
Alarms whooped deafeningly throughout the tower. Outside, shouts.
"NOW!" A'Dunce grabbed the bound Spirit-Walker, yanked a sheet off the bed and bundled him. A kick shattered the window. He poured energy into his legs and *threw* himself out, arcing like a missile over the moat towards his team's position. Landing hard, he rasped, "Move! Have him! Go!"
They erupted from cover, a dark blur across the manicured lawn. Cloud spun, unleashing a biotic command. Earth responded. Plants shot upwards, trees contorted, creating a snarling, living wall between them and the converging guards. Nanoweave cloaks masked thermal signatures. They scaled the outer wall like phantoms.
Mica City's sprawling, neon-drenched chaos embraced them. They ran south, away from the tower, Argent's amplified shriek echoing off the buildings: "*FIND THEM! KILL THEM! BRING BACK MY TREASURE!*" It carried even over the city's roar.
They didn't stop until the urban sprawl became industrial wastelands miles south, well beyond Mica City's oppressive glow, sheltered in the shadows of a derelict reactor complex. Their breath came in ragged gasps. The bundled figure in A'Dunce's arms was radiating intense heat.
"The Spirit-Walker?" Cloud breathed, hope battling exhaustion. "Who…?"
"He's naked," A'Dunce replied bluntly, setting the bundle down. "And burning up." He pulled out spare grey fatigues from his belt's dimensional pocket.
As A'Dunce pulled back the sheet to dress the near-unconscious figure, Cloud gasped in horror. The young man's skin was crimson, covered in a sheen of sweat, muscles locked in agony. It was **Spiridon**.
Rock knelt. "Synaphex? A potent neural aphrodisiac cocktail. If it spikes unchecked… it'll fry his system. A'Dunce! Your core's chill field! Dampen his metabolism!"
A'Dunce pressed his hand near the Shadow Core port. A wave of controlled, bone-deep cold radiated out, washing over Spiridon. The violent shudders eased slightly. A'Dunce then placed his hand on Spiridon's neck, channeling a current of pure, neutralizing Celial Pulse energy into the man's depleted system. The unnatural flush receded. Biotics suppressed the neural suppressants. Spiridon's eyes fluttered open.
Cloud dropped to her knees, tears filling her eyes. "Spiri?! It's me! Yun! A'Dunce… he saved us! We were sent by the Matriarch! You're safe!"
Spiridon focused on her face. Recognition sparked, then profound, soul-crushing shame drowned it. His voice was a wrecked whisper. "Yun… It is you… Yun… I… I saw you…" Tears tracked through the grime on his face. His eyes, once vibrant sapphires, were dull obsidian marbles. He struggled weakly against A'Dunce's supporting arm. "Yun… my soul… stained… filthy. Unworthy… your touch… our homeland's purity…" Before anyone could move, his hand, fueled by a desperate surge of strength, drove the ceremonial dagger *every* Spirit-Walker carried hidden in their spirit-tech cuffs straight up through his own ribs and into his heart.
"NOOOOOOOO!" Cloud's scream tore the night air.
A'Dunce's healing energy surged, but the bio-monitor in his HUD flashed crimson death. The damage was catastrophic, self-inflicted. Spiridon choked, blood welling from his lips, his desperate gaze fixed on Yun.
"Yun… love… you…" he gasped, each word an agony. "…Forgive… couldn't… return… tainted…" He managed a faint, fragile smile, an echo of the forest sunlight. "…Remember… Spirit's Grove?… Us… chasing… sky-fireflies?… Miss… that…" His eyes drifted, unfocused. "…Yun…" The breath left him. The smile didn't fade.
Silence crashed down, absolute and suffocating. The distant city lights mocked their victory. Cloud cradled Spiridon's head, his blood staining her hands. She was numb. Motionless.
Rock knelt beside her, the fierce leader vanished, replaced by raw compassion. He placed a tentative hand on her arm. "Cloud."
She turned, her beautiful face a mask of utter devastation. Rock gently pulled her into him. Her silent shuddering turned into a primal, gut-wrenching wail against his chest armor, soaking his fatigue shirt. Her voice shattered the stillness. "Why?! Why such stupidity?! You didn't choose this!! Spiridon! Spiridon! WAKE UP!"
Rock's voice was thick, tears welling in his own eyes. "He was Spirit-Walker born, Yun. Honor and purity run deeper than veins. That… *creature*… violated his spirit. To him, survival wasn't freedom; it was an anchor dragging his soul through acid. He… He looked… almost… at peace at the end."
Cloud pushed him away with surprising violence, anguish twisting into fury. "Peace?! How would YOU know?! How can survival be WORSE?!" She clutched Spiridon's body, shaking it. "Spiri! Just a joke, like at the Whispering Falls, right?! Wake up now!"
Rock closed his eyes, a tear finally escaping. He spoke softly, painfully. "Cloud… Ask yourself this: If that monster had done to you what she did to him… If you broke free… what then? Would *you* feel clean standing before him? Would you feel like the spirit you were?"
Cloud froze. Her screams died in her throat. She looked down at Spiridon's face, still holding its fragile smile. His final words about chasing fireflies hung in the polluted air. A low, guttural growl started deep in her chest. The tears didn't stop, but her spine straightened. She lifted her head, staring not at Rock, but towards the direction of Mica City, towards Argent's tower. Her fists tightened in Spiridon's blood-stained clothes, knuckles bone-white. The grieving woman was gone. In her place, fueled by unimaginable loss and Rock's terrible question, stood an avenger whose eyes burned with cold, silent fury hotter than any plasma torch. **Argent** had just made an enemy with nothing left to lose.