The silence that followed the sealing of the bulkhead was heavier than the steel door itself. The only sounds were their own ragged breathing and the distant, furious tink, tink, tink of the seeker drones committing suicide against the reinforced metal. The air was hot, acrid, and still.
"That," Akanni panted, swiping sweat and grime from his brow, "was an inefficient use of resources. But effective." He leaned against the bulkhead, his massive chest heaving. The brief, explosive use of his Geokinesis had clearly cost him. "We've just told Zaire exactly where we are."
"Good," Kwandezi replied, his voice a low growl in the dark. He hadn't moved. He was staring down the new tunnel, which was no longer pitch black. A faint, oppressive orange glow pulsed from deep within, painting their faces in sickly light. The geothermal core was close. "Let him come. The heat down here is high enough to warp steel. It'll make my work easier."
Aisha watched Kwandezi, her expression a mix of dread and awe. His Ultimate Transmuted blades were still in his hands, but he wasn't holding them in a defensive posture; he was holding them as if tasting the air with them. His battle IQ was adapting to the environment, seeing the lethal heat as an ally.
"We can't stay here," Aisha said, forcing herself into tactical mode. She still clutched the Void-sealed briefcase. "Akanni, the waste conduits. How far?"
"Another five hundred meters, past the core's primary heat exchange," Akanni grunted, pushing himself off the door. "This is the 'Veins,' the old industrial heart. The Banishers built their sterile Citadel on top of it, but they never tamed it. The heat, the pressure... it's unstable. Zaire won't risk sending his main force down here. He'll try to cut us off at the exit."
"He'll send more than drones this time," Kwandezi stated. He finally sheathed his swords, the perfected steel sliding into the scabbards with a near-silent shing. "He'll send his elite. The ones who know how to fight Scions."
"Then we don't give them time," Akanni commanded. "Move. And quietly. The sound in these tunnels travels."
They moved as a single, desperate unit. Akanni took the lead, his bulk a reassuring presence, his knowledge of the old network their only map. Aisha followed, her plasma pistol's tactical light providing a necessary, focused beam in the suffocating darkness. Kwandezi took the rear, his senses fully extended, a living radar for the slightest change in vibration or energy.
The tunnel widened into a vast, cavernous chamber that housed the Geothermal Core. It was a breathtaking, terrifying sight. A colossal, spherical reactor pulsed with contained energy, its surface laced with thousands of glowing orange conduits. The heat was a physical blow, roaring against them, the air shimmering with distortion. Massive, ancient turbines, long silent, stood like skeletal giants guarding the core.
"The waste conduit junction is on the other side of this chamber," Akanni yelled over the deafening, low-frequency thrum of the core. "We stick to the maintenance gantry. Do not touch the shielding. The static discharge alone could fry your suit."
They moved onto the narrow, rusted gantry that ringed the chamber, the core pulsing like a captive star beside them.
"We need to know what's in this," Aisha said suddenly, stopping.
Akanni and Kwandezi stopped with her. "Operative, this is not the time," Akanni growled, his red eyes scanning the levels above them for movement.
"This is the time, Captain!" Aisha shot back, her voice echoing in the vast space. She dropped the briefcase onto the gantry with a heavy clang. "We just declared war on the most powerful family in the VDC. I need to know why. I need to know if the data on these chips is worth the lives of the men who will die trying to stop us."
Akanni stared at her, then at the case. His pragmatism warred with his military discipline. Aisha was right. If they were fighting for nothing, they were fools.
"It's Void-sealed," he said. "The lock is molecularly bonded. We don't have the decryption keys or the time."
"We don't need keys," Kwandezi said. He stepped past Akanni, his gaze fixed on the complex lock mechanism. He knelt beside the briefcase.
"Kwandezi, no," Aisha warned. "A Null-Kinetic pulse will destroy the contents. We can't risk—"
"I'm not a brute, Operative," Kwandezi interrupted, his voice cold. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the lock. His battle IQ analyzed it not as a lock, but as a system. A system with flaws.
He placed his fingers gently on the seal. He didn't channel the destructive fury of the Void Host. He channeled its logic. He focused his will, sending a subatomic whisper of Molecular Transmutation into the mechanism. He didn't try to break the bonds; he convinced them to unlatch. He found the specific sequence of tumblers—a complex array of microscopic gears—and transmuted them, one by one, shifting their atomic structure from "locked" to "open" without a single sound.
With a soft, pneumatic hiss, the Void-seal released. The lock disengaged.
Akanni stared, his glowing red eyes wide with disbelief. He had just witnessed a Scion-level power used not as a sledgehammer, but as a scalpel. "By the Founders..."
Aisha threw open the lid. The ledgers and financial documents detailing the Ironclad and Banisher corruption were on top. But beneath them, nestled in a high-density foam cutout, was a single, black, military-grade data chip and a small, antique silver locket.
Aisha's hand trembled as she picked up the locket. It was the phoenix rising from ashes—the crest of the Banishers. She opened it. Inside was a faded, microscopic picture of a smiling woman holding a young boy.
Kwandezi froze. He recognized the woman. It was his mother. He recognized the boy. It was him.
His instincts, his battle IQ, his control—all of it shattered in that instant. The Void Host roared to the surface, feeding on the sudden, catastrophic surge of grief and rage. The air around Kwandezi exploded, a visible, purple shockwave of Null-Kinetic energy slamming into Aisha and Akanni, throwing them back against the gantry railing.
The geothermal core's thrum was drowned out by a new sound: Kwandezi's agonized scream.
"Thorne..." Kwandezi choked out, his eyes now solid, swirling abysses of purple light. He wasn't just holding his mother's locket; he was holding the reason she was murdered.
"The chip, Kwandezi! Look at the chip!" Aisha screamed, fighting to her feet against the psychic pressure.
Kwandezi's glowing gaze snapped to the data chip. Etched onto its black surface was a single project title:
PROJECT INTEGRATE: HOST CANDIDATE 001 - KWANDEZI
"It wasn't just a cover-up," Akanni breathed, the horrifying realization dawning on him. "This wasn't a political assassination."
"It was an experiment," Kwandezi finished, his voice a distorted, inhuman echo. His mother's death wasn't a political silencing. It was a component.
The entire confrontation, the hunt for Thorne, the data leak—it was all a lie. The real conspiracy wasn't about money or power. It was about him.
A new sound echoed across the chamber, sharp and decisive, cutting through Kwandezi's roar.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
Heavy, purposeful, armored footsteps were descending the gantry from the far side of the core.
A figure emerged from the heat shimmer, his charcoal-gray Banisher Aegis Suit absorbing the orange light, rendering him a perfect silhouette of death. He was flanked by six Banisher Praetorian Guards, their Void Blades already ignited.
Captain Zaire stopped twenty meters away, his polarized visor reflecting the inferno of the core. He had out-thought them. He hadn't just guarded the exit; he had predicted their path.
"Your instincts are good, brother," Zaire's voice boomed over the comms, cold and perfectly modulated. "But predictable. You always did love your mother's trinkets."
He knew about the locket. He had known what was in the case.
"Give me the chip, Kwandezi," Zaire commanded, igniting his own twin blades. "Your role in this experiment is over."