The mine screamed.
Not all at once never all at once but in pieces. In tearing shrieks of stressed metal. In the grinding howl of drills biting into veins they were never meant to touch. In the low, resonant groan of the mountain itself as something ancient was hollowed with intent.
Seth stood unmoving near the mouth of the primary chamber, the white fog of sleeping gas already thinning as extraction ventilation systems activated. Filters within his mask adjusted automatically, parsing particulate density, toxicity, and oxygen variance. Numbers existed somewhere at the edge of his awareness.
He ignored them.
The mecha load truck had begun its work.
One of its forward arms anchored into the stone, stabilizers locking with a seismic thud that rippled through the floor. The drills extended not spinning wildly, not roaring but cutting with measured violence. They chewed into the rock with a sound like restrained fury, shards of ore breaking loose and funneling backward along magnetic rails into the open cargo compartment.
Crystals fractured.
Metal veins screamed.
The mine bled.
Seth listened.
He always listened.
Not for danger there was none but for imbalance. For inefficiency. For deviation. The system fed him data in clean layers, but sound told him more. It always had. The pitch of the drills told him density. The rhythm of the fractures told him purity. The vibration through his boots mapped the underground far better than sight ever could.
This mine was rich.
Too rich to be left alone.
"All extraction units optimal," the system reported quietly. "Structural integrity within acceptable loss parameters."
"Keep collapse probability below thirty percent," Seth replied.
"Confirmed."
He took one step forward.
Boot met stone.
The sound echoed differently now.
Someone else was breathing.
Not the shallow, unconscious rhythm of the miners sprawled across the floor like discarded tools but controlled. Strained. Awake.
Seth turned his head slightly.
There.
A man stood near the edge of the gas-cleared zone, half-hidden behind a fractured support beam. Old, but not weak. His posture was tense, knees bent slightly, weight balanced. In his hands was a pickaxe worn, alloyed, reinforced more than mining required.
A weapon masquerading as a tool.
Interesting.
The man coughed once, then spat onto the ground. His eyes burned, not with panic, but fury. Calculating fury.
"So," the man said hoarsely. "You're the one."
Seth did not answer.
He tilted his head instead, listening to the cadence of the man's voice. Strong diaphragm. Old injuries in the chest left side, maybe ribs. Years of command training. A soldier once.
The man straightened.
"You didn't kill them," he said, glancing briefly at the fallen miners. "That tells me something."
Seth remained silent.
The drills screamed louder behind him as the mecha truck shifted position, one arm retracting while another plunged deeper. Ore flowed like water into its belly.
The man's jaw tightened.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Seth smiled faintly beneath the mask.
"Why," he asked calmly, "does that matter?"
The man's eyes narrowed. "Because you crossed into House Bun territory. Because you assaulted a lawful operation. Because you neutralized my men and poisoned civilians."
"Alive," Seth corrected. "All of them."
"That wasn't the question."
"No," Seth agreed. "It wasn't."
The man stepped forward.
Up close, Seth could hear more. Old armor scars beneath cloth. Calloused hands. A man who had stood watch long before this mine ever opened.
"I won't ask again," the man said, voice low. Controlled. "Tell me who you are."
Seth turned fully toward him.
"And who," he asked, tone almost curious, "are you supposed to be, old man?"
The man bristled.
"I am Jos Bog," he snapped. "Retired guard captain. I oversee security here."
Seth tilted his head.
"Retired," he repeated. "And yet you're guarding a mine."
Jos's grip tightened on the pickaxe.
"I see no reason to answer your repulsive questions," he said. "You will answer mine."
Seth chuckled.
It was a quiet sound. Almost amused.
"I see no reason," he replied evenly, "to answer yours."
For a moment, the only sound was drilling.
Jos's eyes flicked not to Seth but past him. Toward the mecha truck. Toward the machine that should not exist. Toward the arms tearing his livelihood apart with mechanical indifference.
"You think this is over?" Jos said. "You think you'll walk out of here?"
Seth said nothing.
Jos shifted into a stance.
Not a miner's stance.
A guard's.
Pickaxe raised. Weight centered. Old instincts flaring back to life.
"I'll hold you here," Jos said grimly. "Until the guards arrive. They'll notice something's wrong."
Seth turned his head slightly, as if considering something else entirely.
"Oh?" he said. "Really."
He raised a gloved hand and gestured—not toward Jos but toward the mecha truck.
"Then how," Seth asked softly, "did that get in here?"
Jos followed the gesture.
And froze.
Up close, the machine was monstrous.
Not in size alone but in purpose. Drills biting deep, arms rotating with surgical precision, cargo filling rapidly with stripped wealth. This was not banditry. This was not sabotage.
This was extraction.
Jos's throat worked.
"You don't mean…" he muttered.
"If that's the case," he said louder, forcing resolve back into his limbs, "then I'll handle you myself."
He stepped forward.
Seth laughed.
Not loud.
Not cruel.
Just… entertained.
"How," Seth asked, turning his body slightly, posture relaxed, "do you intend to do that?"
Jos advanced, boots crunching over stone.
"I've held worse than you," he said. "Bigger. Faster. Stronger."
"Have you," Seth asked, "held a mountain?"
Jos snarled and lunged.
The pickaxe came down hard fast for an old man, faster than most would expect. Seth stepped aside without haste, the blow crashing into stone where his head had been a moment before.
Sparks flew.
Jos twisted, following through with the haft, aiming to crack Seth's ribs.
Seth caught it.
One hand.
Metal met reinforced glove. The impact sent a sharp vibration up Jos's arms and stopped.
Jos's eyes widened.
Seth leaned in slightly.
"You were a guard captain," he said quietly. "Tell me how many men did you lose obeying orders that weren't yours?"
Jos grunted and wrenched the pickaxe back, stumbling a step.
"That's none of your business!"
"Then why," Seth asked, advancing now, "is this mine yours to defend?"
Jos swung again horizontal this time. Seth ducked, stepped inside the arc, and struck.
Not a punch.
A pressure strike.
Jos gasped as pain exploded through his shoulder, nerves screaming. The pickaxe clattered to the ground.
He staggered back, clutching his arm.
"You're not a bandit," Jos breathed. "Bandits don't ask questions."
Seth tilted his head.
"And you," he replied, "aren't just a miner."
Behind them, the mecha truck roared as a major vein collapsed inward controlled, guided, harvested. The sound swallowed the chamber.
Jos straightened, shaking through pain.
"Are you an enemy of the kingdom?" he demanded.
Seth paused.
Then asked, "What has the kingdom ever given this mine?"
Jos hesitated.
Seth continued, voice calm, relentless.
"What has it given your men? Protection? Investment? Renewal? Or just taxes and orders?"
Jos clenched his teeth.
"You were hired," he said suddenly. "Another house. Another noble."
Seth smiled.
"Does it matter," he asked, "if the stone ends up somewhere else?"
Jos roared and charged barehanded.
This time, Seth moved.
Three steps. One pivot. A sweep of the leg.
Jos hit the ground hard, breath exploding from his lungs.
Seth stood over him.
"You asked who I am," Seth said softly. "Let me ask you something instead."
He crouched.
"When this mine is empty," Seth whispered, "will House Bun remember your name?"
Jos lay there, chest heaving, eyes burning.
"…No," he admitted.
Seth stood.
The drills slowed.
Cargo sealed.
Extraction complete.
"Sleep," Seth said.
A needle hissed.
Jos's eyes fluttered and darkness took him.
Seth turned away as the mecha truck retracted its arms, stone sealing behind it like a wound closing.
Outside, the world still slept.
And Seth took what it could not protect.
The mecha truck turned.
Its cargo bay sealed with a final, resonant clang as internal magnetic clamps locked the extracted ore into place. Drills retracted. Stabilizers disengaged. The machine rotated its massive frame with deliberate efficiency, spider-legs folding inward as wheels lowered to bear the weight once more.
Extraction complete.
Seth should have turned with it.
Time was already narrowing. The system fed him quiet warnings non-urgent, but climbing. Recovery probability for unconscious targets was no longer theoretical. Patrol response windows were shrinking by the minute.
And yet
Something tugged at him.
Not a smell.
Not mana.
Not heat.
A vibration.
It threaded through the mine like a whisper pulled too tight thin as a filament, sharp enough to catch against the edges of his perception. It pulsed rhythmically, uneven but consistent, like a heartbeat accelerated beyond biology.
Too fast.
Eight times the cadence of a human heart.
And thinner than sound should be.
Seth stopped.
The mecha truck began rolling toward the exit without him, its bulk retreating down the tunnel in a low, receding rumble.
"Monitor," Seth said quietly. "Did you register that?"
A pause.
Then: "Negative. No anomalous readings within calibrated parameters."
Of course not.
This wasn't something instruments were meant to notice.
Seth stood still, head tilted, breath shallow not from fear, but focus. The vibration pulsed again. Slightly stronger. Slightly deeper.
Inside the walls.
"Tch," he muttered.
He could ignore it.
He should ignore it.
Resources were secured. The objective was complete. Lingering was inefficient. Dangerous. Foolish.
And yet
Curiosity coiled in his chest, familiar and unwelcome.
The same curiosity that had led him underground in the first place.
The same curiosity that had fractured him once already.
"This is how you die," Seth murmured to himself.
Then he turned away from the exit.
Step by step, he followed the sound.
The mine narrowed as he moved deeper older tunnels, abandoned veins, passages that had been deemed unprofitable decades ago. The air here was colder, denser, heavy with stone that had not been disturbed in generations.
The vibration grew clearer.
Sharper.
It wasn't just sound anymore. It was pressure. A tremor that skimmed along his bones rather than his ears, brushing against his nervous system like a fingertip dragged across glass.
Too precise.
Too intentional.
Seth slowed, boots careful against the uneven ground.
The tunnel thinned into a narrow passage barely wide enough for his shoulders. Stone pressed close on either side, the ceiling low enough that he could feel airflow shift with every step.
The vibration pulsed again.
Closer.
He stopped.
Turned his head.
Right.
The sound was coming from the wall itself.
Seth stepped closer, raising a gloved hand, fingers hovering inches from the stone. The vibration was unmistakable now localized, contained, alive.
Then
It stopped.
Dead silence.
Seth frowned.
And then it surged back to life.
Faster.
Twice the speed.
The vibration moved.
It retreated deeper into the stone, slipping away like something startled.
"Oh no you don't," Seth muttered.
He lunged forward.
The chase was instantaneous.
The vibration accelerated, no longer cautious, streaking through the mine walls at an inhuman pace. It wasn't burrowing it was sliding, phasing through stone as if density were optional.
Seth broke into a sprint.
The system flooded his awareness with spatial mapping, compensating instantly. He ran flat-out through twisting corridors, boots barely touching ground, breath steady, focus absolute.
The vibration raced ahead
Then abruptly stopped.
Dead end.
Seth skidded to a halt at the terminus of the tunnel, stone wall rising solid and unbroken before him.
Too late.
The vibration surged forward
And Seth moved.
He stepped into its path, timing perfect, arm snapping forward
At sound speed.
Stone exploded.
His arm punched through the wall as if it weren't there, reinforced bones and servos screaming under the stress as his fingers closed around something.
It fought him.
Violently.
The object vibrated against his grip, frequency spiking, oscillations turning vicious as it attempted to shred his blood vessels from the inside. Pain lanced up his arm sharp, electrical, invasive.
Seth growled and tightened his grip.
Metal groaned.
Veins strained.
Slowly, the vibration weakened.
Then steadied.
Then
It began to beat.
A steady, rhythmic thump.
Like a heart.
Seth pulled his arm free, stone collapsing around the hole he'd torn open. He held the object close, breathing controlled as he assessed it by touch alone.
A cube.
Small no larger than his fist.
Its surface was smooth but not polished, etched with rune lines that pulsed faintly in time with its beating. The texture was warm. Organic. Wrong.
"Monitor," Seth said quietly. "Record this."
Before the system could respond
An alert flared.
Sharp.
Urgent.
"Warning," the system said. "Multiple biological signatures regaining consciousness. Secondary patrol units detected. Mounted. Approaching from the east."
Distance collapsed in his mind.
Minutes.
Less.
"Damn it."
Seth didn't hesitate.
He turned and ran.
Twenty seconds.
That was all it took.
Twenty seconds of sprinting through twisting tunnels, leaping over unconscious bodies, skidding through thinning gas as the mine rushed past him in reverse. The cube thumped steadily in his grip, its rhythm oddly calming despite everything.
He burst from the tunnel just as the last miners stirred, boots hammering stone as he shot past them and into the open night.
The mecha truck was already accelerating.
"Speed up," Seth barked as he leapt
And clung to the side as the machine surged forward, engines roaring low as it tore through dirt and stone toward the forest border.
Behind them
Horses.
Shouts.
Steel.
The mine erupted with activity as guards poured in, some helping the fallen, others drawing weapons. Orders rang out. Lanterns flared.
A leather-clad captain took command quickly, barking instructions, eyes sharp as he scanned the chaos.
Then he heard it.
A hum.
Low.
Mechanical.
From the forest.
"Five of you," he ordered. "With me."
They mounted and rode.
Fast.
Too fast.
From the shadows behind them
Seth struck.
His bike screamed forward, silent until the last second. He slammed into the rear guard, wrenching him from his saddle and sending him tumbling into the dirt.
Another turned
Too slow.
Seth slid his bike low, clipping the horse's legs. Rider and mount went down hard.
Steel flashed.
Seth tossed a flashbang between two charging guards
Light detonated.
Sound vanished.
They screamed and fell.
A blade disk spun from his hand, slicing cleanly through reins and rider alike.
Then
The captain.
Fast.
Disciplined.
He came in from the right, sword arcing toward Seth's neck.
Seth twisted, dodging by inches.
They faced each other.
"Who are you?" the captain demanded.
"You do not want to know," Seth replied.
"If you refuse to speak," the captain snarled, "I'll take it from your corpse!"
"Is that so," Seth said calmly. "One more step and you'll never see the light of day."
The captain charged.
Seth dismounted.
Steel flashed.
Seth moved barehanded.
He dodged. Closed. Grabbed the man's head and drove his knee into his face bone cracked. An uppercut followed, snapping the captain's head back.
They clashed again.
The captain was skilled. Trained. But Seth was better.
He dismantled him piece by piece pressure strikes to ribs, arms, joints until the man collapsed, immobile.
"It's too late," the captain spat through blood. "Guards will surround you."
"For someone who can't move," Seth said calmly, "you have a big mouth."
He looked toward the approaching lights.
Then back.
And smiled beneath his mask.