The underground forge had become more than just a hiding place—it was a fortress of silence and rebuilding, where Lian and Elara had spent nearly two months since the massacre in the Grand Arena. The old blacksmith's sanctuary, with its rundown stone walls blackened by years of smoke and the constant drip of water from cracked pipes overhead, had shielded them from the galaxy's fury. The news feeds, which the old man occasionally brought back from his rare city runs, still burned with their names.
"The Ghost's Rampage" was the label stuck to the incident, replayed endlessly on holo-channels across sectors. Footage of Lian's blur in the ring, the severed head rolling across the stone, and the systematic slaughter of Mechari supporters, students, fighters, and enforcers had become viral nightmares. Mechari Ascendancy had declared a holy vendetta against any who harbored the duo, with bounties tripled to levels that could buy small planets.
Reapers were confirmed active in the sector, their white-eyed scouts spotted in lower-level markets. But the forge remained untouched. The old blacksmith had layered the entrances with ancient precursor runes he kept hidden for emergencies, runes that scrambled scanners and turned away prying eyes. No drones penetrated the barriers. No trackers found the signal. Only the soft crackle of coal and the occasional drip broke the quiet.
Elara had recovered almost completely.
She could walk without any support, her alloy legs moving with the silent precision they had always had.
She swung her curved black blade at full speed in the small yard behind the forge, the motion fluid and deadly, no whir of strain from her systems.
She even sparred lightly with Lian now, their blades clashing in perfect silence, testing limits without pushing too hard.
Her systems were synced again, human brain and mechanical core in harmony, the red heart monitor on her chest glowing steady and strong.
But something had changed in her blue cybernetic eyes.
The massacre had left a shadow there.
A quiet question that lingered every time their gazes met.
She no longer looked at Lian with the pure, unquestioning trust of before.
There was hesitation now.
A doubt.
Lian felt it like a weight on his chest.
He never brought up the words he had spoken in the ring—"bored, wanted fun"—again.
He didn't need to.
She remembered them clearly.
One night, after a light spar where their blades had sung silently through the air in perfect synchrony, Elara stood opposite him in the forge yard.
The space was small, cleared of scrap for training, the ground uneven concrete marked with Lian's footprints from weeks of hammer swings.
She sheathed her curved black blade with a soft click.
Her voice was synthetic but soft, carrying the faint mechanical edge that Lian had grown used to.
"You killed thousands."
"For fun."
Lian looked into the dying coals of the forge, the orange glow reflecting in his void eyes.
No denial came from him.
Just silence.
Elara stepped closer.
Her alloy fingers brushed his shoulder.
The touch was cool, precise, a reminder of her half-machine nature.
"I don't judge you."
"But I need to know the truth."
"Are you still the boy who carried me out of that ring?"
"The one who protected me?"
"Or has something else taken his place?"
Lian finally turned to face her.
His void eyes met her blue glow.
"I am what I need to be."
"To kill him."
"The white-eyed one."
Elara studied him for a long moment, her cybernetic eyes scanning his face as if reading data.
Then she nodded slowly.
"Then we do it."
"Together."
"But not like that again."
"Not unless we have to."
Lian considered her words carefully.
Then he spoke.
"Agreed."
"But power comes first."
"More power."
Elara tilted her head slightly, a habit she had when processing information.
"How?"
Lian stood up.
Walked to the hidden compartment beneath the bed.
Pulled out the forbidden book.
Opened it to a marked page.
The ink was faded but the words were clear.
"Harvest."
Elara looked down at the page.
Read the ritual steps.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Dark."
"Dangerous."
Lian closed the book.
"Only on those who deserve it."
"Or those who stand in the way."
Elara thought for a long time.
Then nodded once.
"Use it."
"But be careful."
"Or we become them."
Lian gave a faint smile.
The first real one since the ring.
"Deal."
That same
night, Lian made the decision.
He would harvest.
First target: a corrupt Mechari enforcer who had been hunting them in the lower levels.
The man was known for killing innocents during searches.
Known for taking organs himself to sell on the black market.
Perfect irony.
The old blacksmith prepared the tools without question.
Cauldron set up in the yard.
Vials for essence.
Restraint chains with Qi-suppress runes.
The healer warned quietly.
"First time is the hardest."
"Soul shock."
"Voices."
"Never go away completely."
Lian nodded.
Left at midnight.
Elara stayed behind.
He returned before dawn.
Blood on his cloak.
But not his own.
He carried a sealed case.
Inside: fresh heart.
Fresh eyes.
A small core fragment from the enforcer's aug system.
The healer set up the ritual circle in the forge yard.
Old man watched from the doorway.
Silent.
Lian placed the organs in the cauldron.
Chanted the words from the book.
Qi surged.
Pain hit like fire in his veins.
Soul screamed.
Voices of the dead enforcer flooded his mind.
Rage.
Fear.
Memories of kills.
Laughter.
Threats.
Lian clenched his teeth.
Held on.
Absorbed.
Realm jumped.
Core Condensation Peak.
Then Stellar Circuit Early.
Power flooded his body.
Eyes sharper.
Speed doubled.
Mind clearer.
But the side effect came immediately.
Whispers.
Constant.
In his head.
The enforcer's voice.
Victim screams.
Laughter.
Threats.
Lian pushed them down.
But they stayed.
Small.
For now.
Elara watched the whole ritual from the doorway.
When it ended she stepped forward.
Hand on his arm.
He looked at her.
Voice steady.
"Done."
She squeezed.
"Good."
But her eyes were worried.
The whispers stayed.
The hunt for the white-eyed man had begun in earnest.