Victory was a lie.
By nightfall, the southern quarter burned. Streets glowed red with fire and blood, screams swallowed by the endless hiss of steam. Though the rebellion struck fiercely, the Engineer's precision was merciless. Enforcers pressed from all sides, their rifles never wavering, their formations never breaking.
Elric led survivors through alleyways slick with rain and gore. Selene killed without hesitation, her shadows drinking lanternlight. Evangeline staggered, her mind drowning beneath the chorus of machines — each captured Anomalist's essence twisted into another shrieking cog.
At the edge of the district, they found a courtyard strewn with bodies. The silver-eyed girl lay among them, her once-burning gaze extinguished. Around her, more rebels — men, women, children — lay cut down, their blood soaking into Brasswick's stones.
Selene knelt beside the girl's body, her hands trembling for the first time. She whispered something too soft for even Elric to hear. Then she rose, her face harder than iron.
Evangeline's voice cracked. "We can't win. He is the city now. He doesn't need spies or soldiers. He breathes through every pipe, watches through every gear. We are mice in the walls of a god."
Elric did not answer. He only stared at the slaughter and clenched his cane until his knuckles whitened. For the first time, doubt coiled in his chest.
Perhaps the Phantom Engineer was right. Perhaps there was no flaw left in his design.