The chamber they had stumbled into felt wrong. Unlike the cold steel arteries of the Citadel, this room had been preserved, almost curated. Velvet carpets lay stretched across the stone, a faint shimmer of old magic still clinging to their fibers. Bookshelves rose in solemn rows, their spines untouched by ash or Draugr alloy. A desk sat at the center, polished, neat, waiting for a master. And standing in front of it, arms clasped behind his back, was the man.
Elin's rifle was already shouldered, trained on him. Her breath hitched as her eyes drank in the details of his attire — the cut of the coat, the embroidery on its cuffs, the crest etched faintly in silver thread. It was unmistakable: the stylized crescent-and-flame sigil of **Arcanoria**, stitched proudly into his collar. His boots were clean, his gloves immaculate, as though he had not walked a ruined hall in his life.
"You're…" Elin's voice sharpened, disbelief hardening into accusation. "…Arcanorian."
The man didn't flinch. His posture was impeccable, his chin lifted as though standing before royalty rather than two intruders.
"What are you doing here?" Elin pressed, her finger taut against the trigger.
His reply came smooth, calm, dismissive — like a teacher scolding unruly children. "You people are still causing problems. Always scratching at walls you cannot break."
Brynhild's lip curled. She stepped forward, gauntlet crackling faintly as she flexed her fingers. "Say that again, silk-shirt. See if I don't wipe the smug off your face."
His eyes were calm, gray like still water, regarding them as one might regard insects buzzing against glass. The silence stretched long enough that Brynhild's jaw tightened. She was itching to hit him, to see what secrets he bled when the coat tore and the calm cracked.
Elin, however, felt the dread coiling under her ribs. An Arcanorian. Here. In the Draugr Citadel. That meant deals, betrayals — things she had feared but never wanted confirmed.
The air changed. A low vibration rolled through the chamber floor, rattling the crystals embedded in the desk. Brynhild's grin flickered — not out of fear, but anticipation.
Elin pulled her scanner from her belt, thumb flicking across its cracked glass. The readings spiked red, pulsing in heavy rhythm with the approaching sound. Mechanical hisses, the metallic grind of servos, echoed faintly down the corridors beyond the sealed door.
"They're coming," she said sharply, shoving the scanner back. "Patrols, a whole cluster. They've locked onto us."
Brynhild cocked her head toward the stranger. "Good. We take him with us. He'll talk louder under fists." Her grin widened, wolfish. "Nothing gets a noble's tongue wagging like a gauntlet to the ribs."
Elin's hesitation lasted only a breath. He could be a spy. He could be worse — a collaborator. Whatever he was, he was valuable. She gave a short nod, rifle steady. "Fine. We move him."
She stepped closer, wary, eyes darting to the door as the steps grew louder.
Brynhild reached out, her gauntlet hand closing the space between her and the stranger. But before her steel fingers could clamp onto his shoulder, the man began to speak.
The words weren't Arcanorian. They weren't any tongue Elin recognized. They rolled through the chamber like static fed into storm winds — mechanical, guttural, yet laced with a cadence that was undeniably human. The sound scraped across the walls, set Elin's teeth on edge.
Brynhild froze, narrowing her eyes. "What the hell's he saying?"
Elin shook her head, tightening her grip on the rifle. "I don't know."
The man's voice rose, each word layered with distortion, his figure beginning to flicker at the edges. The embroidery on his coat rippled like pixels unraveling.
"No," Elin muttered, stepping forward. "He's not—"
But before she could finish, the man dissolved. His entire form collapsed into sparks of static and vanished, leaving behind nothing but a faint scent of ozone and the lingering echo of his last syllable.
Brynhild's roar shook the shelves. She slammed her gauntlet into the wall, splintering wood and stone alike. "Damn it!"
The room was empty again, save for them and the steadily building thunder of Draugr closing in.
Elin lowered her rifle, exhaling sharply through her teeth. Her voice came bitter, quiet, but firm: "If we're leaving, it won't be quietly anymore. Brute force."
The frustration on Brynhild's face melted into something savage. A grin, sharp and hungry, spread as she cracked her knuckles and turned toward the sealed door. "Finally."
The door to the study shuddered under the pounding of Draugr fists. Every impact rattled the shelves, sending books tumbling like leaves. Elin slung her rifle, checked the magazine, and gave Brynhild a terse nod.
"Let's make some noise."Brynhild said.
With a single swing, Brynhild tore the door from its hinges. It crashed outward into the corridor, slamming into the nearest drone and crumpling its chestplate like tin. Beyond, the hallway was already alive with crimson eyes.
Brynhild became a storm. She waded into the tide of Draugr, her gauntlet punching through steel skulls, tearing limbs from sockets, smashing bodies into the walls hard enough to split stone. Sparks rained in arcs around her as though she were a blacksmith hammering the world itself.
Elin followed at her flank, rifle raised. Each shot was clean, surgical — precision bursts through glowing eyes and exposed cores. She kept one pace behind Brynhild, covering her blind side as the gauntlet tore through anything dumb enough to get close.
The Citadel reacted to them like an immune system to a wound. Sirens shrieked overhead, crimson glyphs flaring across the walls. Lockdown protocols blared in an artificial voice, echoing through the corridors: *"Containment breach. Intruders detected. Terminate with extreme prejudice."*
Ceiling panels clanked open. Security pylons dropped down, their crystal lenses glowing as automated turrets locked on. Elin shouted, "Down!" and rolled, snapping a shot into the pylon's core before it could fire. The explosion showered the hall with molten shards.
More drones poured in from both ends, the flood unending. Brynhild planted her feet, slammed her gauntlet into the floor, and sent a shockwave through the stone. Half a dozen Draugr crumpled as the ground cracked beneath them. She laughed, wild and reckless.
"Left!" Elin barked, sprinting toward a side corridor.
Brynhild didn't need telling twice. She smashed aside a drone that lunged for her throat and thundered after Elin. They weaved between burning pylons and the smoldering wreckage of shattered machines. Elin's lungs burned, every heartbeat louder than the alarms. Somewhere deep in her pocket, the stopwatch still ticked down uselessly — she had forgotten it entirely.
"Down!" Elin pointed to a descending stairwell, firing two quick shots over her shoulder. The drone that had been on their heels tumbled headless into the dark.
They plunged downward, Brynhild carving a path through the steel and fire, Elin covering her from behind. The deeper they went, the louder the Citadel's fury grew — turrets whirring, sirens howling, Draugr servos clanging against stone.
The Citadel wanted them crushed.
But they were still running.
The stairwell spat them out into a vast entrance hall. Once, this space must have been grand: marble floors, high-vaulted ceilings painted with Skjoldur heraldry. Now it was a cage of alloy plating, conduits pulsing like arteries across the walls. At the far end gleamed the main gates — heavy iron doors framed by Draugr pylons, and beyond them, the faint shimmer of night air.
Salvation.
Elin's chest heaved with relief. "There—"
But before the word finished leaving her lips, the doors slammed shut with a sound like thunder. Bolts the size of tree trunks drove into place. A crimson glyph spread across the surface, sealing them in.
Elin skidded to a halt, her stomach dropping. "We're trapped."
Brynhild didn't even slow down. Her grin widened into something feral. "Oh no you don't!"
She threw herself at the doors with all the momentum of a charging bull. Her gauntlet collided with the iron, and the entire hall shook. Metal shrieked, stone cracked. She drew back, roared, and slammed it again. And again.
The Draugr poured in behind them, shrieking in metallic chorus, but Brynhild was unstoppable. Every blow warped the doors further, sparks exploding, chunks of molten iron spattering the marble floor.
Elin spun in place, gunning down the closest drones as they swarmed. She screamed over the chaos: "It won't hold, Brynhild!"
"Neither will they!" Brynhild bellowed, smashing her gauntlet once more. This time, the left panel of the gate split down the center with a sound like a mountain breaking. One final strike sent both doors exploding outward in a storm of debris.
Brynhild turned, breathing hard, sweat steaming against the cold night air rushing in. She kicked aside the twisted remnants and gestured with a cocky grin. "Ladies first."
Elin darted through, rifle raised, eyes scanning the dark.
The courtyard of the Citadel spread before them, cloaked in snow and shadow. For a heartbeat, Elin felt the relief of open air, the night sky above them.
Then the shadows moved.
Her eyes widened. Rank after rank of Draugr soldiers stretched across the courtyard, lined in flawless formation. Hundreds of crimson eyes glared in unison. Towering constructs loomed behind them, their engines growling. Overhead, hovering skiffs descended like carrion birds, searchlights igniting the snow in searing beams.
They weren't escaping. They had run straight into the jaws of the beast.
Brynhild's grin stretched wider, eyes alight with unholy fire. She flexed her gauntlet and laughed. "Now that's a party."
Elin lowered her rifle, her throat dry, disbelief spilling out in two words.
"Oh shit…"