[ Ironhaven Megacity, Undercity Sublevel 11 – Forgotten Transit Vault ]
The pain kept him moving.
Ebon limped through tunnels so deep that the air held the essence reminiscent of rust and old stone, thick and stale in his lungs. Sublevel 11 was a place most people only heard about in rumours—collapsed ceilings, flooded corridors, and the skeletons of pre-Shattering trains half-hidden beneath debris. Hardly anyone bothered to come this far down. Even the rift leaks seemed to avoid it.
Perfect for hiding.
Perfect for healing.
He found a dry alcove behind a fallen billboard and let himself slide down the wall, every muscle protesting. Blood had dried and crusted along his ribs where Carver's spatial blade had grazed him, and ugly purple bruises were extending over his torso thanks to the enforcers' batons. His left forearm throbbed with a dull ache, the bone still complaining from where a spike had nearly snapped under pressure.
But he was alive.
And Apex hadn't followed.
Yet.
He rummaged through the small med-kit he'd taken from the Carnival wreckage, finding black-market serum, a few stolen bandages, nothing fancy. He jabbed the serum into his thigh, gritting his teeth as the burn spread quickly, his veins racing black while the stuff forced his body to mend itself back together. The serum worked fast, but it wasn't without risks.
Effects of the concoction were unpredictable; it could accelerate healing or wreak havoc on his body if used too frequently. There was always a gamble that this time it might push him over the edge, where recovery would be impossible.
While the serum did its thing, he let his mind wander—anything to distract himself from the pain.
The Carnival replayed in flashes.
The crowd's roar.
Garrick's steel jaw cracking under his fist.
The moment he'd held full manifestation — forearms, elbows, knees, shins — longer than ever before.
Five minutes.
Five minutes of perfect control.
He flexed his hand, wincing as the burn flared up, but the spikes slid out clean—six on each fist, steady, no tremor this time. Progress, at least.
A small, grim smile tugged at his lips in the darkness.
His thoughts turned to the crew.
Mira's last note still weighed in his mind.
" We're safe. Sublevel 5. Real beds. Real light.
Jax won't stop drawing you. Lena sleeps with the light off now. Tomas says the food's better.
Don't come looking. We're safe.
Live, Thorne.
—M"
They were safe.
Because he wasn't there.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep came in short, restless bursts, haunted amid dreams of cages, ice, fire, and endless empty tunnels.
He stirred at the sound of footsteps.
Light. Careful.
He was up in an instant, spikes half-manifested.
Doc Harlan appeared from the gloom, augmented arm whirring softly, a small pack slung over his shoulder.
"Easy, it's just me."
Ebon relaxed — barely.
"How'd you find me, Doc?"
Doc tapped his temple. "Old medic trick. Fracture Energy leaves a signature. Yours is… quite loud."
Fracture Energy, a remnant force from the Shattering, resonates within those able to harness it, marking them unmistakably. It's detectable due to slight distortions in electromagnetic fields and can be tracked if one knows what to look for. However, its potency varies, with limits based on the user's ability to control and channel the energy effectively.
He tossed the pack.
"Supplies. Protein, serum, bandages. And this."
Inside was a burner comm and a single red core — pure, high-grade.
"From the Carnival crate. Kira pulled strings. Said you earned it."
Ebon turned the core over in his fingers, feeling the faint warmth pulsing from it. Real power, right there in his hand.
Doc hesitated.
"Apex raised the bounty this morning. Two hundred thousand. Dead or alive. Carver's leading the hunt himself."
Ebon felt his veins pulse, a familiar heat rising under his skin.
"Good."
Doc's look intensified. "You're not running."
"No."
"You're going to war, it's not going to be good for you."
Ebon returned his gaze.
"They started it."
Doc let out a sigh, the kind that sounded like it carried the weight of the whole Undercity.
"Then take care of yourself. The Undercity's already calling you "King". Some say you're a myth, a ghost that defies Apex's grip, while others whisper of hope and rebellion. But don't let it crush you."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Whatever you're becoming… don't forget the kid who shared his last meal with a pickpocket."
Ebon didn't answer.
Doc disappeared into the dark.
Alone again.
Ebon closed his fist around the red core and squeezed until it shattered, shards digging into his palm.
Pure Fracture Energy rushed through his veins, hot and chaotic, making him feel painfully, sharply alive.
He guided it.
Forced it.
Pain exploded, but he held.
Spikes erupted along his back, but this time, he could control them, not just react on instinct.
Ten obsidian thorns, sharp and steady, gleamed under the muted light.
He forced himself to hold them for a full minute, counting the seconds in his head.
Then let them retract.
The hunger quieted.
Satisfied.
For now.
He stood.
The tunnels felt different now, somehow smaller and less threatening.
It was almost as if the tunnels were waiting for him to outgrow them, to move on to something bigger.
Three days later, the Undercity whispered a new name in fear and awe.
***
Thorne had struck again.
An Apex supply convoy — ten enforcers, three C-ranks, one B-rank lieutenant — ambushed in Sublevel 7.
All down.
Cores gone.
Lieutenant left alive, barely.
Message carved into the tunnel wall with diamond spikes:
Come find me, and you'll bleed.
The bounty hit 230,000 creds.
Carver read the report in the Spires, smile gone.
In the deepest tunnels, Ebon Thorne trained.
No crew.
No home.
No mercy.
Each day, the obsidian lines crept a little deeper into his skin, a gentle hint of what he was becoming. The lines, dark and almost serpentine, represented the intertwining of Fracture Energy with his very essence, symbolising both power and the remnants of a world broken.
They marked his transformation, affecting not just his body but resonating with his mind and spirit, reflecting the struggle and mastery over the volatile force within him.
The spikes grew sharper.
The hunger subsided.
Because it wasn't hungry anymore.
It was patient.
The Beast had a name now.
And Rentarra would learn it.