The tunnel shook with Authority boots.
The rhythm wasn't human — too perfect, too drilled — like the sound of a city erasing itself step by step.
Jack's blade dripped, steam hissing where black blood hit the wet tracks. His chest heaved, but his eyes… they weren't steady. They glittered in the floodlight like glass about to crack.
Victor stayed behind him, rifle raised. He wasn't covering anymore — he was aiming at Jack almost as often as the Authority.
"Jack," he rasped, barely audible under the hum of drones. "This is it. You tip, I pull."
Jack smirked, but it was a tired thing, frayed at the edges. "You always talk like I'm already gone."
"Because you don't see yourself," Victor snapped. His voice was raw now, stripped down. "You don't see what you look like when Marcus bleeds through."
The words hung heavier than the smoke curling between them.
Then the Authority moved.
A phalanx of armored enforcers surged, shields glowing blue, rifles leveled. Behind them, spider-like drones clambered along the walls, their optics glowing.
Victor braced. Jack didn't wait.
He slammed forward, blade carving sparks against the shields. Metal screamed. The Blood Oath surged, his veins lighting with fire, every movement too fast, too brutal. He wasn't fighting to survive — he was fighting to break.
Marcus's laugh laced the sound of gunfire, threading through the tunnel air.
Victor fired in bursts, precision giving way to desperation. Every time Jack slipped too deep, Victor's gut twisted: was that swing his, or Marcus's?
An enforcer dropped, visor caved in. Jack didn't stop. Another drone shattered under his blade, sparks raining like fireworks. His grin widened — too wide, too sharp.
Victor's heart hammered. That's not him. That's not him.
He shouted, voice tearing: "Jack!"
Jack froze mid-strike, blade locked against an Authority rifle. His chest heaved. For a split second, his reflection in the soldier's visor wasn't his at all. It was Marcus, crown of static flickering above his head.
Victor raised his rifle. His finger brushed the trigger.
"Don't," Jack growled without turning. His voice was ragged, but it was his. For now.
The soldier shoved back. Jack spun, slicing through the man's side.
Then the break came.
The Harbinger slammed into the tunnel — a new one, bulkier, armored heavier than before, its cracked core pulsing red through steel ribs. It crashed through Authority lines, tearing friend and foe alike with claws as long as a man's arm.
Authority shouted, scrambled. The enforcers who'd been chanting orders were suddenly screaming. The floodlights shook. The tunnel became chaos.
Jack stood dead center, blade dripping, eyes locked on the monster like it had been waiting for him.
Victor swore under his breath. "Goddamn it. It's always you."
The Harbinger screeched, sound splitting concrete.
Jack lunged.
The fight wasn't clean. It was jagged, desperate. Jack scaled the beast's armor, stabbing deep, wires spitting sparks. The Harbinger slammed him into the wall hard enough to dent steel.
Victor fired grenades, bullets, anything he had. Nothing slowed it.
Jack's body blurred — too fast now, movements jerking between his and Marcus's. For a second, Victor swore he saw Marcus riding the Harbinger too, a shadow figure grinning over Jack's shoulder as if both men were carving through the tunnel together.
Jack screamed — not in pain, but in something hungrier, darker. His blade tore down through the Construct's core, red light spilling out like fire.
The Harbinger shrieked, collapsing into smoke and sparks, shaking the tunnel as it died.
Silence fell.
Jack staggered, drenched in ichor, breathing ragged. His blade hung limp at his side. His eyes burned faint, Marcus's grin still clinging to the corners of his mouth.
Victor raised his rifle. This time, his hands didn't shake. "Say one word wrong," he said hoarsely. "One. And I end it here."
Jack looked at him. Really looked. And for the first time, he didn't smirk. He just whispered: "Would you?"
Victor's throat tightened. He didn't lower the rifle.
The surviving Authority scattered into the smoke, shouting retreat codes, dragging their wounded. The tunnel emptied, leaving just the two of them and the echo of boots fading.
Victor didn't lower his aim. Jack didn't drop the blade.
Between them, the air felt heavier than all the ash above ground.