The street was alive with neon fire.
Dozens of eyes burned at me from the shadows, every gang in the underhive sending their hounds to see if the monster was real. Their weapons hummed, their augments buzzed, their prayers stank of desperation.
Rain poured harder, sizzling when it touched the blood glowing at my feet. The Core inside me throbbed like a second heart, begging me to make a choice.
Helena's whisper coiled in my ear. Blade or crown. Fear or faith.
Sofia-9 stood silent at my side, hands resting on the hilts of her folded servo blades, unreadable, waiting to act on the order I hadn't given.
The first to move was an Iron Syndicate brute. Steel plating covered his arms, hydraulic pistons jutting from his shoulders. He bellowed something I didn't care to hear and charged, pavement cracking under his weight.
The Core pulsed.
I met him head-on. My arm unfolded into the monoblade with a shriek of steel and fury. Sparks screamed as it clashed against his plated chest. For a heartbeat we were locked, metal grinding against metal, his strength inhuman, his roar drowning the rain.
Then my blade burned hotter.
The Core flared crimson through my veins, and the plate split like paper. He fell in two pieces, neon blood painting the street in glowing arcs.
Gasps, curses, whispers.
The Black Seraph priestess shrieked in ecstasy. "The Neon Messiah! His blood baptizes the street!" She lifted her plasma dagger high, carving glowing symbols into the air. Her zealots echoed her, their voices rising into something like prayer.
The Krieg Rats hissed and scattered into the shadows, but not all ran. One of them, twitching, eyes like broken neon bulbs, knelt low in the puddles. He smeared the glowing blood of the Syndicate brute across his face, trembling.
Others followed. One by one, they dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the wet pavement, letting neon rain wash over them as though it were holy.
The mob was breaking—half in worship, half in terror.
Helena's smile gleamed like a knife. "Do you see, Elias? One kill, and they kneel. Dozens more, and the underhive will chant your name louder than the arena ever did."
But it wasn't just one kill. It was the way the blood glowed around me, the way the Core pulsed brighter as though feeding not only on flesh, but on belief.
I could feel it. The crowd's fear, their awe, their worship—it bled into me as much as the augments I had devoured.
For the first time, I wasn't just fighting.
I was baptizing.
And the city was kneeling.
---
The rain kept falling, hissing on the neon blood that stained the street. The underhive was quiet now—too quiet. The Iron Syndicate brute lay in two pieces, steam rising from his corpse. The smell of oil and burnt flesh mixed with acid rain until it felt like breathing poison.
No one dared step forward.
The gangs shifted uneasily, eyes glowing in their neon masks, caught between worship and terror. A moment ago, they had come to claim a monster. Now they were deciding if they'd kneel before one.
Sofia-9 moved first.
Her blades folded out with a snap, twin arcs of white light humming at her sides. She stepped forward, her synthetic eyes sweeping the crowd like a machine calculating targets.
"Observation," she said, voice flat, mechanical. "Target groups destabilized. Probability of successful subjugation: ninety percent. Recommendation: execute one more leader. Establish hierarchy."
Her calm tone made the gangs flinch more than any roar would have.
From the shadows, a shrill laugh broke the silence.
Milo Ratling.
He scurried out from a cracked sewer grate, his mismatched lenses whirring as he watched me with rodent curiosity. "Ah, you see it, don't you? The way they tremble. The way they look at you. Fear is the strongest leash in this city. And you…" He gestured at me with claw-like fingers. "…you've just fastened the first collar."
I wanted to cut that grin off his face, but the Core inside me hummed, almost agreeing with him.
Then the Black Seraph priestess stepped forward, rain streaking down her tattooed face. Her wings of scrap-metal and circuitry rattled as she raised her dagger. "You are chosen. The Neon Messiah. We will bleed in your name." She sank to her knees, pressing her forehead to the wet ground.
Her zealots followed, one by one, until the street shone with kneeling bodies.
And then a shadow loomed.
Gregor Vanko.
The Steel Hound shoved his way through the mob, towering over them, his hydraulic spine hissing with each step. A chain-axe rested across his shoulder, its teeth still dripping with fresh oil.
He stopped in front of me, his eyes burning under his steel-plated brow. For a moment, the rain was the only sound between us.
Then he dropped the axe into the puddles, letting it hiss against the neon water. He sank to one knee, the hydraulic spine groaning.
"You fight like a beast," he said, his voice a growl of metal and flesh. "Stronger than Syndicate steel. If you'll have me, I'll fight as your hound."
The Core pulsed hot in my chest, brighter than ever, as if feeding on their submission.
The gangs who had come to kill me were kneeling. The zealots called me Messiah. The rats whispered of kings. And the Steel Hound had bent his knee.
For the first time since I crawled out of the Vault, I wasn't just surviving.
I was building.
Helena's voice slid like silk into my ear. "Congratulations, Elias. Tonight the city baptizes you in neon and blood. You are no longer a prisoner of the Vault."
Her smile was sharper than any blade.
"You are Exile. And this is your Circle."
The chant began again, not from a crowd of strangers this time, but from the throats of those who had bent to me.
"Exile. Exile. Exile."
The sound rolled through the streets like thunder, carried into the dark alleys and broken towers, spreading like fire through the underhive.
The legend had begun.