The southern quarter had always been tinder waiting for a flame. Slums crowded with the unwanted, factories that chewed men into ash, taverns filled with whispers of rebellion. It took only one spark: the Phantom Engineer's enforcers dragging away a boy whose only crime was breathing frost with every exhale.
By the time Elric and his companions reached the district, it was war.
Barricades of overturned carriages and shattered gears blocked the streets. Workers armed with hammers and rusted rifles shouted defiance, while Anomalists fought openly for the first time. One man spat gouts of fire from his throat, another turned the very cobblestones into jagged teeth that devoured automata.
The Engineer answered with precision. Mechanized enforcers marched in flawless lines, rifles firing without hesitation. Steam belched from armored carriages bristling with cannons. Above, zeppelins dropped nets of crackling lightning to snare gifted rebels.
Elric strode through the chaos, every sense sharpened. He barked orders, directing rebels to choke streets with smoke, to break the rhythm of the enemy's machines. Selene darted in and out of shadow, knives finding the joints of brass. Evangeline commandeered enemy automatons, wrenching their gears to turn upon their masters.
But for every victory, three more machines advanced.
At the barricades, the people began to falter. Fear rippled through them — the realization that their defiance was already calculated, already expected.
Elric climbed atop the burning wreckage, smoke curling around his coat. His voice cut through the din like a blade.
"Do not fight to live another day! Fight because you are alive today! He wants to number you, to measure you, to file you away in his perfect sum — but you are the flaw he cannot account for! Brasswick breathes because you breathe! Do not let the city's heart be stolen!"
The crowd roared. Sparks leapt. And for the first time, the rebellion surged not as prey fleeing hunters, but as wolves turning upon hounds.