The heavy door to Damien's new quarters sealed shut, leaving him in the quiet solitude of his command center. On the massive stone desk, the faded, original blueprints of the hotel foundation were spread next to Bane's crude, hand-drawn map. Jonas had delivered them as commanded, his face a mask of professional curiosity, but he had been dismissed with a single, curt nod. Damien's purposes were his own.
He was alone with the puzzle.
For hours, he meticulously compared the two documents, his mind a whirlwind of analysis. The official schematics showed a world of order and logic: structural pillars, cableways, plumbing lines, and solid bedrock. Bane's map, drawn on rough hide, was a map of survival: danger zones marked with skulls, resource points noted, and patrol routes sketched out. And in one area, relatively close to the command level, in a section the blueprints designated as solid foundation rock, Bane had drawn a heavy, square outline and labeled it with a single, ominous word: QUARANTINE.
The discrepancy was glaring. This was no forgotten level; it was a deliberate, hidden construction. A secret buried in the bedrock, its existence known only to the tyrant who had built it. The location, so close to the center of power, was no accident. A man like Bane would keep his most valuable secrets close.
A quiet, hesitant knock at the door broke his concentration. He had given orders not to be disturbed.
"Enter," he commanded, his voice sharp with annoyance.
The door opened tentatively, and Lira, the quiet botanist from the farms, slipped inside. She carried a simple wooden tray with a covered bowl and a cup, looking profoundly nervous to be in his presence. Her eyes were fixed on the floor in front of her, her knuckles white where she gripped the tray.
"Lord," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "My brother, Kael, sent me. He said… he said you had not yet taken your evening meal. I have brought you a stew of Iron-Vine Gourd and some fresh Glimmer Root." She placed the tray on the edge of his desk, careful not to disturb the maps. "The… the new fungal cultures are taking hold near the western irrigation channel. The yield should increase next cycle."
"Your report is noted," Damien said, his gaze not leaving the schematics. He could feel her terror like a palpable wave. "You are dismissed."
"Yes, Lord." She gave a quick, jerky bow and practically fled the room.
He ignored the food. His mind was already back on the problem. He had the location of the "Silent Level," as Leah had called it. Now, he needed a route. A direct approach through the main corridors was out of the question; too many guards, too many witnesses. His secret war had to remain a solitary endeavor.
He turned back to the original blueprints, his finger tracing the intricate web of utility lines. He was not a miner or an engineer like Jonas, but he was a master of systems. He saw the shelter not as a collection of rooms and tunnels, but as a single, complex machine. He traced a disused plumbing shaft, noted its intersection with an old, wide-gauge cableway, and saw how it ran adjacent to the coordinates of Bane's hidden construction. It was a treacherous, indirect path, but it was a path.
He waited until the shelter's "night" cycle, when the fire pits were banked to glowing embers and the sprawling underground city fell into a hushed quiet. He moved silently from his chambers, a ghost in his own kingdom. He navigated the back corridors, his movements swift and sure, until he found a small, rusted maintenance hatch that had likely not been opened in a century.
Prying it open, he was met with a gust of cold, stale air. Below him was a dark, vertical shaft, disappearing into an oppressive blackness. He stood at the edge, concentrating. The familiar power of his awakening answered his call. The air around his feet shimmered, and solid matter coalesced from nothing, forming the sleek, metallic thrusters he had used to escape the pit. He stepped out into the void.
The initial drop was stomach-lurching, but he ignited the thrusters with a thought, a controlled burst of energy arresting his fall and leaving him hovering in the silent shaft. The control was still raw, but it was effective. Using short, precise bursts, he began his descent, the only sound the soft hiss of his power echoing in the confined space.
He dropped level by level, passing the rusting pipes and bundled cables of a dead civilization. Finally, his conjured light illuminated a cross-junction—the wide-gauge utility passage he had identified. He angled his body and propelled himself into the new tunnel. It was cramped, filled with thick, ancient cables that lay like dead serpents on the floor.
He followed the passage for what felt like a kilometer, his senses on high alert. The tunnel ended abruptly, opening into a larger, rough-hewn cavern. The air here was different—cleaner, colder, and still. The walls were not the crumbling concrete of the old hotel; they were smooth, carved bedrock, the work of advanced excavation tools. This was Bane's secret construction.
And at the far end of the cavern stood the door.
It was a perfect, seamless square of a dark, unidentifiable alloy, set flush into the rock. It had no handle, no hinges, no visible lock. There was only a small, dark rectangular panel in the center, identical in its advanced technology to the biometric scanner on the locked tablet in his room. A faint, internal power hummed from it.
This was the entrance to the Silent Level.
He landed silently and placed a hand on the door. It was cold and utterly solid. He pushed. It didn't move. He considered conjuring an explosive charge but dismissed the idea immediately. The noise would compromise his secrecy. The lock required a key he did not possess.
He flew back to his chambers, his mind racing. The advanced lock on the door was identical to the one on the tablet. Both required Bane's unique biological signature, his Saupa signature. He could not replicate it from nothing. But he didn't have to. He possessed a perfect, preserved sample of Bane's original biological data.
Back in his room, he went to the hidden safe he had discovered earlier and retrieved the container with the severed hand. He placed it on his desk. His gaze was cold and analytical. This was no longer a grotesque trophy; it was a key.
Now, he needed to build the tool to turn it.
He sat, clearing his mind, focusing his will in a way he never had before. He wasn't creating a simple, brutal weapon. He needed to create a tool of immense complexity and finesse. He envisioned the schematics of scientific equipment he had only seen in corporate labs from his past life.
The air shimmered. The process was slower this time, more intricate. Light wove itself not into a blade or a barrel, but into delicate circuits, crystalline lenses, and hair-thin diagnostic probes. The drain on his Saupa was sharp, a headache of pure mental exertion. After several minutes, a complex device rested on his desk: a handheld biometric spoofer, complete with a small screen and a focused emitter array.
He carefully opened the container and, using a pair of conjured tweezers, lifted the preserved hand. He attached the delicate probes of his new device to the dead tissue at the wrist. He activated it. The device hummed, and its small screen flickered to life, displaying not words, but complex, shifting patterns of light—a visual representation of the latent energy and genetic signature it was copying from the hand. After a moment, the pattern stabilized, and a green light on the device blinked steadily. He had the key.
He took the spoofer and immediately returned to the hidden cavern, his thrusters burning with his renewed sense of purpose. He landed before the blast door, his heart for the first time in a long while beating with something akin to excitement.
He placed the emitter of the spoofer against the door's biometric panel and activated it. A faint, green light projected from the device onto the scanner. The panel, once dark, glowed in response. First red. Then, it flickered to a steady, accepting green.
A deep CLUNK echoed from within the massive door as heavy locking bolts retracted. It was followed by the loud, sharp hiss of centuries-old hydraulics being activated for the first time.
The massive blast door began to slide sideways into the wall, revealing a dark, sterile corridor beyond.
Damien stood at the threshold of Bane's greatest secret, the cool, sterile air of the Silent Level washing over him. The way was open.