The subterranean labyrinth beneath Manhattan hummed with a low, discordant vibration that rattled the marrow. Chase moved through the damp maintenance tunnels, his Void-steel duster flowing behind him like liquid shadow, silent against the rusted metal catwalks. Every few seconds, he tapped his temple, engaging his Surgeon's Sight to track the violet ley lines of Essence hemorrhaging into the city's iron arteries.
"Target is stationary at the primary reservoir junction," Rixsa's voice crackled through the comms, crisp and professional. Back at the mansion, she was hunched over the Aegis terminal, her eyes dancing between thermal signatures. "He's dumping an unidentified catalyst into the filtration tanks. He looks... frantic, Chase. Like a man trying to outrun his own shadow."
"Copy that, Eyes," Chase whispered. He glanced up at Blood Eye, who was perched on a high-pressure steam pipe like a gargoyle of matte-black tactical plates, his mechanical eye whirring as it pulsed crimson in the dark.
A momentary silence fell over the channel, broken only by the rhythmic, heavy drip of condensation.
"Hey, Blood Eye," Rixsa's voice returned, her tone shifting from operator to curious comrade. "Vincent mentioned something earlier about a 'scary form.' If you're this legendary assassin, why are you walking around in a single, human-looking body? Didn't you have a 'Scout' form back in the Marches?"
Blood Eye shifted, the red light of his patch dimming as if he were exhaling. "It wasn't just a form, Rixsa. It was a dual-vessel technique. In the old world, I could project my consciousness into a second body—a female vessel that acted as my scout while I remained the sword. I was my own eyes and my own blade. I never had to rely on anyone."
"Was?" Rixsa prompted.
"When I was killed and the Corpse Stealer stitched my soul back together for this world, she 'experimented,'" Blood Eye rasped, a rare edge of irritation bleeding through his dead-calm voice. "She frayed the link. The vessel gained sentience—it has its own mind now, its own lethal will. It's out there somewhere, independent of me. Back home, it made things easy; I was a self-contained unit. But now? I'm stuck in this one shell, and that vessel could be doing anything... or working for anyone."
"That sounds like a headache," Rixsa muttered. "A literal soul-split migraine."
"It is," Blood Eye replied shortly. "Eyes on the objective. We're at the threshold."
They reached the vaulted ceiling of the reservoir. Below them, a man in tattered, iridescent robes—Theron, the self-proclaimed Alchemist—was frantically pouring glowing fluid into the massive intake valves.
"I will break the ceiling!" Theron's scream echoed off the wet stone, bordering on a sob. "this world is a cage for the weak! With this Essence-catalyst, I will force the evolution! I will be the first Master of Earth!"
Chase didn't even draw a weapon. He simply vaulted over the railing, dropping twenty feet and landing with a soft, surgical thud on the concrete lip of the tank. Blood Eye followed, a silent shadow with his hand resting on the hilt of his black blade.
"Theron, stop," Chase said, his voice echoing with the cold, undeniable authority of a chief surgeon.
"Stay back, Surgeon!" Theron hissed, clutching a final vial of shimmering violet liquid. "You of all people should understand! Why stay this weak—why crawl in the dirt —when we could be kings?"
"Because your plan is fundamentally, embarrassingly stupid," Chase said, walking forward with his hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over the bubbling filtration tanks. "I looked at your notes in the files Vora provided. You're trying to use a high-pressure Essence infusion to bypass the world's Rank cap. You think that by saturating your cellular structure, you can force an awakening and jump-start your strength."
"It will work!" Theron shrieked, his eyes bloodshot.
"It won't," Chase countered. "The laws of this world are absolute. The Rank 1 limit isn't a biological lock you can 'hack' with a potion; it's a law of physics written into the Lattice itself. Trying to do this is like trying to change the boiling point of water by screaming at it. All you're doing is creating a molecular imbalance."
Chase gestured toward the water in the tank, which was turning a sickly, opaque gray. "You aren't making a potion for 'Godhood,' Theron. You're creating a coagulant. In about ten minutes, that fluid is going to turn into a thick, toxic sludge that will jam the city's entire filtration system. You aren't going to be a king. You're just going to cause a massive water shortage and get yourself arrested for felony property damage."
Theron looked at the vial, his hands trembling. "But... the calculations... the ancient ratios..."
"Were based on the old world's physics," Blood Eye added, stepping into the light. "Different world. Different rules. Give it up, kid. Do you really think the gods would build a world where we could just cheat our way back to power? We're supposed to be on a vacation. This is their way of making sure we don't ruin the resort."
Broken by the cold, surgical logic of his failure, Theron's strength vanished. He let the vial slip from his fingers. Before it could shatter against the concrete, Chase's hand blurred, catching it with effortless grace.
"Blood Eye, secure him," Chase commanded.
As the assassin moved in to cuff the weeping Alchemist, Chase looked out over the reservoir. "Rix, notify the Aegis cleanup crew. We caught the idiot before he could brick the system, but Tank 4 is going to need a neutralizer for that sludge."
"On it," Rixsa replied. "Nice work, boys. And Chase? Vora just sent a message. She says she's 'delighted' to see you're still the biggest buzzkill in two worlds."
Chase sighed, turning back toward the exit. "Just get us a transport. I want to be home before Alex's soufflés get cold."