[ Ironhaven Megacity, Undercity Sublevel 9 – Bolt-hole ]
Ebon slammed the door shut, the echo reverberating through the narrow chamber like a final judgment.
Mira hovered just behind, trying to hide the fear on her face. The kids peeked out from the back room. Jax rubbed his sleepy eyes, Lena hugged her battered bear, and Tomas was already gripping a piece of pipe like he meant business.
"What was that?" Tomas asked, voice steady, but his fingers cold.
Ebon slumped against the door, chest pounding. The fight with Carver hadn't lasted long, but it left more than bruises. His arm throbbed where the spatial distortion had crushed it — close, but not quite. The black veins in his skin pulsed, working overtime to patch him up, but they couldn't do anything about the sting of losing.
"Apex Guild," he said flatly. "They found us."
Jax's eyes widened. "The big guild? The ones with the Spires?"
Ebon nodded. "The ones who run everything."
He pushed himself off the door and moved to the middle of the room, scanning their meager supplies: stacked mattresses, ration tins, the glow-lamp barely hanging on to save juice. For months, this place had been their hideout, buried under lies and dead ends in Sublevel 9—Deep enough that most people stopped looking.
Ironhaven was a hive, twisted and stacked. The Spires shot up for kilometers, all clean air and bright lights, where the rich and the Forged bigshots lounged with their Fracture Tech toys. Below that, the Mid-Crown buzzed with regular folks, always watched, always taxed. Then came the Depths—Sublevels 1 to 6—where the poor clawed out a living. And at the bottom, the Undercity: Sublevels 7 to 12, a mess of tunnels and rift-burned ruins. That's where people like us went to disappear.
And under all that? The Abyss. Sealed tight, but the Calamity Rift still leaked poison into everything above.
But now, even Sublevel 9 wasn't safe.
"How'd they find us?" Mira demanded, her voice low so as not to scare the younger ones. "We're practically ghosts down here."
Ebon flexed his hand, spikes threatening to emerge. "That scout — Carver. Spatial Spectrum. He warps space. Probably tracked my Fracture Energy trail from the market fight. Or paid off someone in the bazaar."
Tomas set down the pipe. "So what now?"
Ebon met Mira's eyes. "We move. Tonight. Up two levels, like you said. Use the creds for a spot in a Rogue Collective shelter. Doc has contacts — they take in unregistered types."
Lena's small voice piped up. "But… this is home."
Ebon knelt in front of her, ignoring the pull in his ribs. "Home's wherever we're safe, Lena. And we're not safe here anymore."
Jax nodded solemnly. "Because of your spikes?"
"Because of me," Ebon said quietly.
Moving out chewed up the rest of the night.
Ebon led the way, carrying Lena on his back when her legs tired. Mira together with Tomas hauled the essentials — rations, blankets, the stuffed bear. Jax scurried ahead, waving his little flashlight like a pro.
They stuck to back routes, avoiding main tunnels where guild patrols might lurk. The climb up to Sublevel 7 was grueling — rickety ladders, narrow vents, the constant hum of Fracture Energy in the walls making Ebon's veins itch.
By the time the city's fake dawn crept in—just a little less dark than usual—they made it to Doc Harlan's clinic again.
The old medic grumbled but didn't argue. "Knew you'd come knocking. Apex doesn't forget a face like yours."
He made calls on a scrambled communicator — old Rogue Collective channels. An hour later, a battle-worn woman named Kira showed up, mid-20s, with a dim glow to her skin that screamed Psychic Spectrum.
"Four kids, unregistered?" Kira glanced at Ebon's veins. "And you're the black-veined one everyone's gossiping about. This'll cost extra."
Ebon handed over half the creds. "Just get them safe. Mid-Crown orphanage with Collective protection. No guilds."
Kira pocketed the envelope. "Done. We have a spot in Sublevel 5. Clean, guarded. They'll blend in."
The goodbye came too fast.
Jax hugged Ebon's leg. "You'll visit, right, Thorne?"
Ebon ruffled his hair. "When it's safe."
Lena pressed her bear into his hand. "For luck."
He gave it back gently. "You keep it. I make my own luck now."
Tomas shook his hand like a man. "Don't die, idiot."
Mira hung back, arms crossed.
When the others followed Kira out, she finally spoke.
"This is stupid. I can help."
Ebon shook his head. "Apex knows my face. They'll use you to get to me. Go. Live normally."
Her eyes flashed. "Normal? We never lived normally. How do you expect us to start now?"
He looked past her, voice hard. "You start by being alive. Even if it's without me."
She punched his arm—light, but it stung. "Don't disappear forever… kid."
He managed a small smile. "'Bout time you stopped calling me that."
She turned away, wiping her eyes quickly.
Then she was gone.
Ebon stood alone in Doc's clinic. The silence weighed heavily in, thick and suffocating.
Doc clapped him on the shoulder. "Smart move. Guilds like Apex chew up families to control the strong ones."
Ebon's veins flickered.
He wasn't done.
Apex had pushed too far.
Now he'd push back.
***
By midday, Ebon was stalking the Depths — Sublevel 6, where Apex ran supply routes from the Mid-Crown down to their Undercity outposts.
Doc had tipped him off: a small core shipment coming through a service tunnel. Lightly guarded. Perfect for a hit.
He waited in the darkness of Sublevel 6's service tunnel, crouched on a rusted overhead pipe. Hood up, black veins hidden underneath layers of scavenged fabric. He kept his breathing slow. Heart steady.
The hum of a hover-cart came first—a low, electric whine that got louder with every second.
They showed up right on schedule.
Four Apex low-ranks in matching gray jackets, insignia glinting under their helmet lamps.
Two C-rank Physicals — big, broad-shouldered bruisers with augmented power, veins glowing faint blue from core boosters.
One B-rank Elemental — lean, wind swirling lazily around his wrists like invisible ribbons.
A driver—no enhancements, eyes darting everywhere—walked beside the hovering cart, one hand on its guide rail, crates of sealed Fracture Core vials stacked high. Blues, greens, and a few rare reds pulsed inside.
Ebon dropped.
Halfway down, pain flared—familiar fire racing through his arms and fists. Obsidian plates rippled over his skin, diamond spikes locking in place with a sharp crack that rang out down the tunnel.
He landed on the driver's back, elbow slamming into the base of the man's neck. The spikes grazed flesh—enough to cut nerves, not enough to kill. The driver dropped without a sound, face hitting the cart controls. The cart jerked to a stop.
The Elemental spun first, eyes narrowing.
Wind blasted outward — a compressed blade of air slicing toward Ebon's torso.
Ebon crossed his armored forearms. The gust slammed into him, tearing his jacket to shreds and kicking up a storm of dust. The obsidian held. Wind scattered off the glossy black surface with a high, ugly screech.
He charged through the dying whirlwind.
The Elemental backpedaled, palms thrusting forward. Another blade — sharper, faster.
Ebon twisted aside. The wind sliced a shallow cut across his ribs, blood welling up right away. Pain kept him moving.
He closed the gap in two strides and buried a spiked hook deep into the Elemental's gut.
Obsidian pierced reinforced vest and flesh. Not deep enough to kill—Ebon made sure of that—but enough to double the man over, air leaving his lungs in a stifled gasp.
The two Physicals roared and rushed.
The first one—a mountain of muscle—grabbed Ebon from behind, arms squeezing his ribs akin to steel cables.
Pain shot through his chest. Something cracked.
His veins burned hotter. Hunger woke up.
He slammed his head back, obsidian plate snapping over his forehead just in time.
Crunch.
The man's nose broke with a crunch. Blood splattered Ebon's neck. The grip loosened a little.
Ebon twisted, drove a spiked elbow into the man's gut. He felt ribs give way.
The brute staggered back, coughing up blood.
The second one swung a core-enhanced baton—glowing blue, humming with energy.
Ebon caught it bare-handed.
Spikes met metal.
The baton shattered in a burst of blue sparks. Fragments rained down.
The Physical's eyes widened in shock.
Ebon stepped in, knee snapping up with diamond reinforcement, straight into the man's groin.
The man folded with a strangled scream.
Ebon followed with an uppercut, spikes out, putting everything he had into it.
The man left his feet, hit the tunnel wall hard enough to dent the concrete, and slid down, out cold.
Forty-eight seconds from the drop to silence.
Ebon stood amid the wreckage, chest heaving, blood dripping from ribs and knuckles. Spikes retracted slowly, wounds already knitting under pulsing black veins.
He moved to the cart.
He pried open a crate. Vials of pure Fracture Cores glowed inside. Blues for basic enhancement. Greens for healing. A handful of reds—rare, expensive, enough to buy real safety for months.
He pocketed two dozen. Smashed the rest on the ground. Glass and energy burst in harmless flashes of light.
Let Apex feel the bite for once.
Emergency sirens screamed suddenly from the enforcers' comms — shrill, insistent.
"Intruder in Sector 6-Delta! Rogue Forged confirmed! All units converge!"
Reinforcements incoming.
But as he escaped, a form peeled away from the wall ahead — a watcher he hadn't noticed.
Tall figure, faint magma glow under a cloak.
The man didn't pursue.
Just watched him go.
And smiled.
Ebon didn't see him.
But the guilds did.
By evening, the black market buzzed with a new notice on encrypted holo-boards:
[ Apex Guild Bounty: "Black-Veined Thorne"
Unregistered Forged. Threat Level: Rising.
Capture alive. Reward: 50,000 creds.
Approach with caution. Considered armed and extremely dangerous. ]