The ballroom was a slaughterhouse.
The purple toxin released by the Kraken Eye wasn't just poison; it was a corrosive nerve agent. Guests clawed at their throats as their skin blistered. The brass waiters, immune to the gas, malfunctioned, spinning in circles and dropping trays of champagne that shattered on the blood-slicked floor.
"Masks!" Vera shouted, pulling a rebreather from her dress pocket.
Zain didn't have a mask. He didn't need one.
"Breathe," Nox commanded.
Zain inhaled deeply. The toxic gas burned his lungs for a millisecond before the Void Seal caught it. The black ink swirled, breaking down the chemical bonds and converting the death-fog into raw stamina.
He grabbed Vera's arm. "Stay close! I'll clear a path!"
Zain ran forward, waving his hand like he was parting a curtain. The purple fog was sucked into his palm, creating a tunnel of clear air around them.
"The Vault!" Zain yelled, pointing at the blast door behind the stage.
The door was closing. The Syndicate's automated lockdown protocols had kicked in. The massive steel slab was descending from the ceiling, grinding like doom.
But they weren't the only ones running for it.
Three grey-robed cultists were sprinting across the stage, leaping over the melting corpse of the Auctioneer. They moved with unnatural speed, their limbs jerking like puppets on strings.
"They're going for the Shard!" Vera drew her daggers.
One cultist turned. He didn't have a weapon. He raised his hands, and the shadows on the floor surged upward, forming solid spikes.
"Look out!"
Zain shoved Vera aside. A shadow-spike pierced the floor exactly where she had been standing.
"Shadow Magic," Zain gritted his teeth. "They're copying the King's power."
"Poorly," Nox scoffed. "Cheap imitations. Show them the real thing."
Zain didn't stop running. The cultist prepared another spike.
Zain focused on the shadow cast by the cultist's own hood.
"Void Step."
POP.
Zain appeared directly in front of the cultist, face-to-face. The cultist's eyes widened beneath his hood.
Zain didn't punch. He placed his hand flat on the cultist's chest.
"Collapse."
He didn't rot the flesh. He targeted the mana holding the shadow-spike spell together.
The cultist screamed as his own magic backfired. The shadow-spikes around the room dissolved into liquid darkness, rushing back into the caster's body. The cultist imploded, consumed by his own uncontrolled sorcery.
Zain stepped over the empty robe.
"One down!"
"The door!" Vera screamed.
The blast door was three feet from the ground. Two feet.
"Slide!"
Zain and Vera threw themselves onto the polished marble floor. They slid under the descending steel teeth.
Zain rolled through the gap. Vera followed, her dress tearing on the metal.
CLANG.
The door slammed shut inches behind Vera's boots, sealing them inside.
Silence.
The chaos of the ballroom was cut off instantly. The Vault was soundproof, airtight, and freezing cold.
Zain stood up, dusting off his coat. He scanned the room.
It was a museum of dangerous things. Rows of glass display cases held cursed swords, glowing grimoires, and jewelry that seemed to watch them.
But Zain ignored it all.
The Seal on his arm was burning so hot it felt like branding iron.
"LEFT," Nox roared. "IT IS THERE."
Zain ran to the left aisle.
At the end of the row, on a pedestal made of black obsidian, sat a small, velvet cushion.
Resting on it was a piece of metal. It was jagged, curved, and pitch black. It looked like a piece of a vambrace—an arm guard.
"The Second Shard," Zain whispered.
He reached for it.
"Don't touch it!" a voice hissed from the shadows.
Zain spun around.
Standing in the corner of the vault, hidden by an invisibility cloak that shimmered and faded, was a man. He wore the grey robes of the Eclipsed Hand, but his mask was silver.
He held a curved dagger to Vera's throat.
Zain froze. How did he get in?
"Teleportation scroll," the Cultist answered the unasked question, his voice smooth and cold. "Expensive. But worth it for the King's Vambrace."
He pressed the knife into Vera's skin. A thin line of blood appeared.
"Back away, Void User," the Cultist commanded. "You are merely a vessel. The Hand knows how to extract the entity without killing the host... mostly. But if you touch that Shard, I open her throat."
Zain's hands curled into fists. He looked at Vera. She wasn't struggling. She was looking at him, her eyes calculating.
"Zain," Vera said calmly. "Do the math."
"What?"
"Two threats," Vera said. "One knife. One shadow."
Zain understood. Lesson Two: Shadows have tells.
He looked at the Cultist's shadow stretching across the floor.
"Drop the knife," Zain said, taking a step back. "And I let you leave."
The Cultist laughed. "You are in no position to bargain. You are trapped in a sealed vault with me. And soon, my brethren will burn through that door."
"We aren't trapped with you," Zain said, his eyes flashing with dark energy. "You're trapped with us."
BOOM.
A muffled explosion rocked the entire building. The floor shook.
Then, the lights went out.
Boz had hit the power grid.
The Vault plunged into absolute, pitch darkness.
For the Cultist, this was a problem. He couldn't see Vera. He couldn't see Zain. He panicked, swinging his knife wildly.
For Zain, darkness was home.
"Hunt," Nox whispered.
Zain didn't need eyes. He felt the mana signature of the Cultist like a beacon in the dark.
He moved silently. He didn't use Void Step. He just walked.
The Cultist cast a light spell—a small orb of fire in his hand.
It revealed Zain standing right in front of him.
"Boo," Zain said.
The Cultist lunged with the dagger. Zain caught his wrist.
"Wither."
The Cultist shrieked as his hand turned grey and numb. The dagger clattered to the floor.
Vera, freed, didn't waste a second. She swept the Cultist's legs, knocking him down, and delivered a swift kick to his temple. The silver-masked man went limp.
"Good timing on the lights," Vera breathed, picking up her daggers.
"Boz loves blowing things up," Zain grinned in the dim light of the Cultist's fading fire orb.
He turned back to the pedestal.
The Shard sat there, waiting.
"Take it," Vera said. "Before the backup generators kick in."
Zain reached out. His fingers brushed the cold black metal.
SNAP.
The metal didn't just merge with him this time. It clamped onto his forearm.
Pain—white-hot and excruciating—shot up his shoulder. Zain fell to his knees, screaming silently as his bones rearranged themselves.
The black ink of the seal surged, flowing over the metal shard, consuming it. The "tattoo" on his skin became 3D. It hardened.
When the pain subsided, Zain looked at his arm.
He wasn't wearing a sleeve anymore. His right forearm was encased in a sleek, segmented gauntlet made of black chitin and shadow. It wasn't metal; it was part of his body.
"Synchronization: 15%," Nox announced, his voice booming with newfound strength. "The Vambrace is restored. Defensive capabilities unlocked."
Zain flexed his fingers. The gauntlet moved perfectly with his skin. He punched the air. It felt light, but solid as a mountain.
"How do you feel?" Vera asked, watching him warily.
"Heavy," Zain said, his voice dropping an octave. "And hungry."
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Someone was hammering on the blast door from the outside.
"They're cutting through," Vera said. "We need a way out."
Zain looked at the ceiling of the vault. It was reinforced steel.
"Nox," Zain said. "Can we break it?"
"With the Vambrace?" Nox chuckled darkly. "We can break the sky."
Zain crouched low. He channeled every ounce of energy he had absorbed from the gas and the cultist into the gauntlet. The black armor glowed with a purple aura.
"Hold on to me," Zain told Vera.
Vera grabbed his waist.
Zain jumped.
He punched the ceiling.
CRACK.
It wasn't a thud. It was a shatter. The reinforced steel buckled and exploded upward as if it were made of glass.
Zain and Vera shot up through the hole, into the ventilation shaft above, leaving the vault—and the unconscious cultist—behind.
"Phase Four," Zain panted as they scrambled into the dusty vent. "Run like hell."