Steel Fangs: Blood of the Machine
Season 2, Episode 23 — The Tribunal's Choice
Timeline: Night after the Leviathan battle. Zack = Level 80. City Acknowledgement: High, Myth threshold approaching. The Ledger hums like a loaded gun you can't put down.
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Cold Open — The Roof Where It Began
Hospital rooftop. Same place Zack first held his mother's hand while cancer chewed her into memory. Same tar lines, same humming vents. Different man standing there: steel in his veins, city in his chest, oath on his teeth.
The skyline blinks like it hasn't decided whether to trust him. Sirens play like nervous music in the distance. The river glitters as if it knows it just lost a round and is planning the rematch.
Zack's HUD scrolls cold text:
MEETING: Tribunal Delegation (Broker-tier)
Risk: Extreme (political + oath-binding attempt)
Note: They will offer what you cannot refuse. They expect refusal anyway.
Behind him, Luna leans on the vent, smoking because stress deserves ugly habits. "Feels like an ambush."
"It is," Zack says.
Silas flicks his coin, expression unreadable. "That's the point. You walk into ambushes when you want to find out who can't shoot straight."
The elevator door clanks open. Figures emerge.
The Tribunal.
Five seats, though only four are filled tonight:
• Pearl-Eyes, white suit, gaze like mirrors turned wrong.
• Braid-Jaw, half his face knotted in ritual scars, smile all scorn.
• Boy-Old, child in stature, old in teeth, voice like lullabies with knives.
• The Blurred One, always flickering at the edges, like the city refuses to render them fully.
One throne sits empty. Silas's eyes harden, but he doesn't explain.
"Zack," Pearl-Eyes says, voice smooth. "You've made yourself indispensable. The city bends around you. Crowds obey you. Tonight, we offer you… graduation."
Zack spits. The sound clangs against tar. "Call it what it is: recruitment."
Pearl-Eyes smiles. "Offers. Not chains. The choice is yours."
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Act I — The Offer
The Blurred One steps forward. Their words don't echo, but they ripple through meaning.
"Prestige requires two locks," they say. "The city's almost open to you. The self is harder. We can help."
Zack narrows his eyes. "Help me give something up? Sounds generous."
The Boy-Old giggles, swinging his feet like a kindergartner at a gallows. "Not generous. Efficient. You'll have to pay anyway. Why not choose the price we make easy?"
Braid-Jaw bares his scarred grin. "We'll take the memory of her voice." His scar twitches like it's smiling too. "Clean, surgical. You'll keep the feeling, lose the words. No more replaying her coughs, her lullabies. No more anchor to grief. Prestige will flow to you like blood down a drain."
Zack's steel shivers. His HUD spikes warnings:
SELF LOCK OFFER: Mother's Voice (Memory).
Cost: Irrevocable.
Result: Prestige eligibility immediately.
Risk: Permanent wound to Oath resonance.
Pearl-Eyes spreads her hands. "A gift. Freedom from pain. We watched you suffer, replaying her. You think it makes you strong. It makes you slow. Cut it loose."
Silas's coin stills. His face is thunder. "That's their play. Make you hollow in the exact shape they want. You'll be easier to market."
Luna flicks her cigarette away, ember sparking like her mood. "Don't even fucking think about it."
Zack's teeth grind steel. He feels his mother's voice—whispering fevered thanks when he fetched her water, humming broken tunes while her chest rattled. To lose that would be to lose the weight that makes him Zack.
He shakes his head, slow. "No."
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Act II — Refusal
The rooftop air tightens. The Tribunal doesn't flinch. They expected this.
Braid-Jaw shrugs. "So sentimental. Heroes always are. Then let's test how strong your grief really is."
The empty throne fills.
A fifth figure resolves—Marrow. Not proxy, not shadow—him, white suit perfect despite blood on the cuffs like he dipped his hands in the Leviathan for ink.
"Evening," he says casually. "You've been busy, Zack. The city thinks you're its boy. The river tasted you and didn't spit. Cute."
Pearl-Eyes frowns. "Marrow, this is Tribunal business—"
Marrow holds up a silver bell. Tiny. Harmless-looking. He taps it once.
The sound doesn't exist. And yet every light on the skyline flickers in unison. The HUD screams:
ALERT: Unauthorized Bell Resonance.
Result: Oath suppression field.
Penalty: Hearthchain −50%. Anchor disabled. Oathwave stagger.
Zack staggers, chest caving like someone unplugged his vow. He can still feel it—but it's muted, half-asleep.
Marrow steps closer, smiling at Pearl-Eyes. "Your Tribunal's weak. You barter scraps, you wait centuries for myths to cook. Me? I take what I want when I want. Watch."
He blurs forward, hand spearing Pearl-Eyes's chest. She gasps, blood spraying like pearls in the air. Her body stiffens. Her voice emerges—not her mouth, but her voice, as if stolen. Marrow holds it between his fingers like smoke.
"Tribunal," he says, mocking. "Consider this my resignation."
He drops Pearl-Eyes's body. It crumples. Her eyes stare blank, mirrors shattered.
The rooftop explodes into violence.
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Act III — Rooftop War
Shades pour from elevator shafts like floodwater. Priests in shredded robes crawl over vents. The bell's resonance eats at Zack's oath, pulling his chains slack, his anchors limp.
He fights anyway.
Steel fists. Fangs. Speed. No gifts, just him. He cracks a Shade's jaw with a hook that rings louder than Marrow's bell. He drives his knuckles into another's temple and feels steel bone grind. Luna's axe sings in counterpoint, splitting robes, biting ribs. Silas slashes the air with his coin like a scalpel, bending trajectories so bullets meant for Zack hit concrete instead.
Marrow watches, amused. "Even half-shackled, you bite. I like that."
Zack wipes blood from his mouth. "Bite harder than you think."
HUD: Hearthchain reduced. Oathwave cooldown doubled. Anchor unavailable.
Note: Pure physical combat proficiency + Surge compensation unlocked.
Temporary Skill: "Feral Mode" — +20% STR/AGI while Oath suppressed.
Zack leans in. He fights like seventeen years of pain distilled into one boy with fists like factories. A Shade lunges—he bites its throat out, steel fangs shredding until marrow (lowercase) sprays. Another grabs Luna's arm—Zack rips it off at the shoulder and clubs a third with the limb. He's drenched in gore and doesn't care.
The rooftop tilts into chaos. Tribunal members scatter—Braid-Jaw fights with ritual knives, Boy-Old hurls curses in playground rhymes. Silas intercepts both, coin a streak of silver light.
Marrow ignores them. He's watching Zack.
"Prestige isn't a ceremony," Marrow says. "It's a robbery. You rob yourself until nothing left can be stolen. Then the world calls it evolution."
"Then I'll rob you first," Zack spits.
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Act IV — The Killing
Pearl-Eyes lies dead. The Tribunal wavers—four now, one murdered on their own throne. Their authority cracks like glass.
Marrow steps on the silver bell. It chimes again. Zack's heart seizes. His Ledger flashes red:
EMERGENCY CONDITION: Vow destabilization.
Risk: Forced Lock breach.
Possible outcomes: Oath collapse OR premature Prestige (catastrophic).
Zack sways. Luna grabs his arm. "Don't you fucking fall on me, Zack!"
Silas grips his shoulder hard enough to bruise steel. "Hold it. Don't sign anything."
Zack clenches his fists until his knuckles squeal. He sees his mother's face—her smile, her voice. He whispers: Not yours to take.
The Ledger steadies. Barely. The oath hums like a chainsaw chewing itself.
Marrow's grin widens. "Good. Fight me, then."
He lunges—not with fists, but with contracts. Every gesture writes new terms in the air: This punch lands. This wound stays. This breath costs. Zack rips clauses apart with his steel teeth, but each one stings like chewing broken glass.
He takes hits. His ribs dent. His jaw cracks and reforms. He keeps moving. Luna hacks at Marrow's flank, splitting his jacket; Silas slams angles into closed doors, forcing Marrow's attacks to miss.
Finally, Zack lands one—a steel hook that caves Marrow's cheek. Blood sprays. Marrow only laughs. "Yes. That's the myth I want."
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Act V — Fallout
The fight ends in a draw not because Zack wins, but because Marrow leaves. He steps back, coat bloody, bell humming in his hand.
"You're not ready," he says. "Not yet. But soon. Your Prestige will taste sweeter if you starve first."
He vanishes into the city's neon, bell note trailing like a hangnail on the soul.
The Tribunal regathers around Pearl-Eyes's corpse. Boy-Old is pale with fury. Braid-Jaw snarls. The Blurred One simply nods at Zack. "He killed one of us. That means we need you alive."
"Don't twist it," Zack snaps. "I don't work for you."
"Not yet," the Blurred One murmurs. "But you will work against him. That's close enough."
They vanish. The rooftop is just a rooftop again, blood pooling by vents.
Zack drops to one knee, exhausted, dripping gore and smoke. Luna kneels beside him, hand on his neck. "You're alive. That's a fucking win."
Silas exhales, coin finally still. "No. That was a test."
⸻
Stinger — The Ledger Speaks
Zack staggers back to his own building, showers blood off steel, collapses on his bed. His HUD pings once, quietly:
NEW SYSTEM: Ledger Voice Unlocked.
Function: Oath may now speak directly to user.
First Entry: Don't give them her voice.
He stares at the ceiling, heart hammering. The city hums outside, alive, afraid, watching.
He whispers: "Prestige or die."
The Ledger whispers back: Prestige, but not yet.