The perimeter wall near the old Fisk Generating Station was meant to be unbreakable. Silas had transformed the concrete into a one-foot-thick alloy of iron and granite, embedded with alchemical triggers that would turn any intruder into a statue of salt.
Kaelen did not approach the wall.
He stood twenty feet back in the shadows of the Green Zone, watching the automated turrets scan the barren ground. Kaelen led Greyhawk Unit One. He wore armor that seemed to absorb all light—a matte charcoal composite that didn't clank or rust. His helmet had no visor; it only featured a smooth, blank faceplate embedded with complex sensor arrays.
"Thermal layers are shifting," Vesper, his second-in-command, whispered over the comms. Her voice was synthesized and flat. "The Alchemist's wards are cycling."
"Wait for the gap," Kaelen replied in a low murmur. He didn't need eyes to see the wall. The helmet turned the world into sensory data streams. The wall smelled like ozone and defiance.
"Cycle alignment in three, two, mark."
Kaelen moved. He didn't run; he flowed. He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a sphere the size of a marble. It wasn't magic; it was a hyper-dense Null-grenade from Director Thorne's R&D department.
He tossed it at the base of the wall.
There was no explosion, just a sickening thwump sound, like air being punched out of a lung. A ten-foot circle of the wall turned gray, then beige, before crumbling into dust. Silas's transmutations reverted instantly to their original elements.
"Breach secured," Kaelen said, stepping over the pile of dust. "We are in the Wild Zone."
The air inside the city felt different. It was thick, chaotic, and smelled of desperation.
"Targets?" Vesper asked, stepping in behind him, followed by Stroud, their heavy weapons specialist.
Kaelen adjusted his helmet sensors, filtering out the noise of starving civilians and minor hedge-wizards. He was hunting bigger prey.
He caught a scent on the wind. Not a physical smell, but an energetic signature that felt like copper wiring heating up.
"The Alchemist is static," Kaelen reported. "Centrally located. The Water Tower."
He sniffed again. The sickly sweetness of lilies and old earth lingered.
"The Necromancer is near him. Also static."
Then he detected a third scent. It was sharp, biting, and tasted like licking a battery. It felt fresh, but weak. Flickering.
"The Kinetic," Kaelen said. "He's moving. And he's wounded. He's bleeding energy."
Stroud hefted his weapon—a rotary cannon that fired proximity-fused Null slugs. "Do we flush the tower?"
"No," Kaelen said, turning toward the heart of the darkened city. "We take the weakest link first. We follow the blood."
The Water Tower – Base Level
Jax hated being stuck. The resonance bomb had drained his internal battery. He felt sluggish, heavy, and annoyingly normal. Every time he tried to spark a current, he got a headache that felt like an icepick behind his eyes.
"Are you sure you are fit for travel, Mr. Miller?" Silas asked, checking the straps on his heavy field pack.
They were in the sub-basement of the Water Tower, standing before a heavy iron grate in the floor. This was the entrance to the Deep Tunnel system—the ancient storm drains that predated the modern city.
"I'm fine, Tin Man," Jax snapped, shoving a flashlight into his belt. "I just need a jumpstart. There's bound to be some live wires down there."
"There are no wires where we are going," Isobel said quietly. She was staring down through the grate into the rushing black water below. "Only roots and history."
"The seismic charges are prepared," Silas said, ignoring the tension. "We drop to level four, then we blast through the bedrock to access the primordial layer."
He reached for the lever to open the grate.
Suddenly, the alarm klaxons blared above them.
This wasn't the general "perimeter breach" alarm. It was the proximity alert.
"They're inside the perimeter," Silas growled, his copper veins flaring bright. "How?"
CRASH.
The heavy oak doors of the Water Tower's main entrance exploded inward.
Jax spun around, reaching for a charge that wasn't there. He staggered, feeling dizzy.
Three figures stood in the entryway, backlit by swirling magical snow. They looked like shadowy gargoyles.
"Greyhawks," Jax breathed.
Kaelen stepped forward. His helmetless faceplate turned toward Jax.
"Target acquired," the synthesized voice boomed. "Jackson Miller. You smell like a dying ember."
Stroud didn't wait for an order. He leveled the rotary cannon and opened fire.
THWIP-THWIP-THWIP.
The slugs didn't explode. They hit the stone walls around them and released clouds of gray gas—concentrated Normalcy.
"Isobel, down!" Silas roared.
He stepped in front of her, crossing his tungsten arms. He slammed his foot onto the stone floor, transmuting the flags into a rising wall of jagged steel spikes to block the doorway.
The Greyhawks didn't even slow down.
Vesper sprinted forward, leaping over the rising spikes with impossible agility. In mid-air, she threw a handful of metallic discs. They latched onto Silas's steel wall.
The wall rusted into dust within seconds.
Vesper landed in a crouch, pulling two baton-like weapons from her back. They crackled not with electricity, but with anti-magic resonance.
Silas met her charge, swinging a massive metal fist. Vesper dodged under it and slammed one of the batons into Silas's knee joint.
The copper wiring at the joint went dead instantly, turning gray. Silas roared in frustration as his leg seized up.
"They're neutralizing the alchemy on contact!" Silas yelled, backhanding Vesper across the room. She hit a pillar and sprang back to her feet.
Jax tried to help. He grabbed a loose conduit on the wall, desperately trying to pull a charge. He got a weak spark, enough to throw a bolt of lightning the size of a pencil. It hit Stroud's chest armor and dissipated harmlessly.
Stroud pointed the cannon at Jax.
"No," Isobel whispered.
The shadows in the room suddenly rushed toward the Necromancer. The temperature dropped thirty degrees.
"YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE."
Isobel screamed as a shockwave of pure terror blasted outward. It was powerful enough to stop a charging rhino.
The Greyhawks just stood there. Their armor insulated them against psychic attacks. Kaelen merely tilted his head, as if listening to a dull tune.
"Ineffective," Kaelen stated. He raised a wrist-mounted launcher and fired a grapple line. It wrapped around Isobel's waist.
He yanked her forward, pulling her off her feet.
"Isobel!" Jax lunged, but his powerless legs buckled.
Silas, limping on his frozen knee, grabbed Isobel's arm, playing tug-of-war with the mercenary.
"We cannot fight them here!" Silas roared at Jax. "They counter our abilities! The grate, Miller! Open the grate!"
Jax scrambled to the lever on the wall. He threw his weight against it.
With a groan of rusted gears, the iron grate in the floor swung open, revealing the rushing black water of the storm drain twenty feet below.
"Down!" Silas commanded.
He let go of Isobel, grabbed Kaelen's grapple line with his tungsten hand, and channeled a burst of alchemical heat into it. The metal cable glowed red, then melted, snapping just before it reached Isobel.
Isobel tumbled backward toward the open hole.
"Jump!" Silas yelled at Jax.
Silas grabbed Isobel and threw himself into the darkness.
Jax looked at the Greyhawks closing in on him. Kaelen was pulling a long, serrated blade from his back.
"See ya, Robo-Cop," Jax shouted, and dove into the hole.
He hit the freezing water hard. It rushed fast, carrying him away into the pitch-black underbelly of the city. Above him, he heard the grate slam shut, followed by the muffled sound of Null slugs hitting metal.
They were alive. They were underground. And the wolves were right above them.