Release the Hounds
[Date: August 5, 980 GD. Location: Maintenance Elevator -- Ascending to Layer -1)
POV: Wynter
"You hesitate," I whispered.
Those two words hung in the hot, toxic air.
I stared into Vance's eyes. There, behind the layers of fear and sweat beading on his face, I saw something surprising.
It wasn't just ego. It wasn't just the bruised narcissism of a bureaucrat.
It was Conviction.
This old man... he genuinely believed in his own nonsense. He wasn't bargaining for a price on a yacht or a villa in Aurum. He truly, with his entire machine-driven heart, wanted the rats in Layer -1 to be seen as human. He wanted dignity. He wanted equality.
It was sincere. And because it was sincere... it was pitiful.
So pathetic.
He hated the Sky, but he failed to realize the insanity of his own logic. Did he think he held a gun to the heads of the Gods just because he controlled the cooling water taps?
Did he think this system—a giant structure built on the suffering of millions over a millennium—would collapse just because one pipe was clogged?
He didn't understand the scale of his enemy. The Sovereign didn't negotiate with blockages; they performed 'bypasses'. If Vance blew up this pipe, the Sovereign wouldn't come down here to apologize and hand out human rights certificates. No.
They'd send an orbital strike. They'd bore a hole through the earth to its core, carve a new channel through Vance's corpse, and replace this entire worker population with automated Golems that didn't demand wages.
Vance thought he was a revolutionary holding a detonator. In reality, he was just a janitor staging a strike inside a nuclear reactor. He thought he was important. He didn't realize that to those above, he was just... a noisy spare part.
His madness wasn't the red button. His madness was thinking that 'Humanity' had bargaining power in the Sky's capital markets.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the charred scent from the table I had just melted. My respect for him rose slightly because of his sincerity, but my pity for him rose much higher.
I withdrew my hand. The room temperature plummeted. Solstice in the corner stopped spinning her umbrella, sensing my cue that the show was over.
"You didn't press the button because deep down, you know I'm right," I said softly, my voice no longer threatening, but like a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis.
"The system won't give you equality, Vance. The system only feeds what is useful and discards what is broken."
I straightened up, smoothing my slightly singed robe.
"So, stop trying to be a hero for the dead. Be a Sky Hound. Be useful."
"I give you Three Days," my ultimatum fell, cold and final.
"Open that logistics route. Surrender the underground transport monopoly to me. Sever your ties with Kora and that mad Prophet."
I raised three fingers.
"If in three days you're still playing games with my faucets... I won't come alone next time. I'll bring the full force of Zero Point City."
My eyes locked on his, then I gestured toward Solstice and Kara.
"Today I only brought two Valdor hounds. Tomorrow? I'll bring the entire kennel. I'll send Titus to demolish your walls, Vianna to buy your men's loyalty, and Kael to hang you in the square."
"And you will receive a warning from me. One warning per day. Make sure you count them well, Vance. Because the third warning is the bomb."
I didn't wait for his answer. I didn't need to. I'd already seen the crack in his eyes. He was wavering.
Without another word, I turned.
I signaled my team. Kara spat on the floor as a parting gesture. Solstice stepped out of the shadows, her body heat making Vance's door guards retreat in fear.
We walked out, retreating into the pipe's shadows, leaving the sewer governor alone with the doomsday button he dared not press, and the dream of equality I had just shattered with logistical reality.
As we walked away, I allowed myself a thin smile.
One piece was wavering. Just two more to go.
We walked out of Vance's lair.
Or rather: Solstice walked out, her footsteps clanging on the metal with an impatient rhythm, while I walked behind her, dragging my feet which began to feel heavy as the initial euphoria faded.
The girl didn't look back. She walked straight ahead, her black umbrella slung over her shoulder, a faint steam of heat still rising from her. She didn't care about the waste puddles or the rats scurrying away in fear. To her, this corridor was just a boring distance separating her from fresh air.
Behind us, Rian stumbled along, still clutching a thick stack of documents—drafts of cooperation contracts now rendered useless. He looked confused, like a child who'd lost his mother in a market.
"P-Praetor?" Rian chirped, his voice bouncing off the pipe walls. "These documents... should we take them back? In case Vance changes his mind tomorrow? We could file an appeal..."
I was just about to open my mouth to give a logical explanation of why that paper was now dead weight, but Solstice stopped abruptly.
She turned. Her glowing blue eyes looked at the stack of papers in Rian's hands with an irritated gaze.
"Noisy," she muttered.
Without warning, she snapped her fingers.
FWOOSH.
A small spark jumped from her fingertip, landing right on the stack of papers.
"WAAAA!" Rian shrieked, reflexively throwing the burning stack into the air.
The documents didn't just burn; they were devoured by the flames ravenously, turning into black ash that floated in the damp air before touching the wet floor.
"Problem solved," Solstice stated flatly, then turned and resumed walking without a hint of remorse. "You're too slow, Glasses. Carrying trash just adds weight."
Rian stared at the ashes with a pale face, then looked at me pleadingly for protection.
I just sighed, watching Solstice's retreating back. She wasn't cruel; she was just... aggressively efficient. To her, failed diplomacy was trash to be burned. Her nature hadn't changed; she was still the "Walking Disaster," only now her disasters were more directed.
"She's right, Rian," I said softly. "Vance refused to be a partner. He chose to be a target. That paper can't save him anymore."
"But... the procedure..."
"To hell with procedure," I cut him off.
I raised my left hand. The Magitek Gauntlet glowed in the darkness.
It was time.
I pressed the priority call button.
"Kael," my voice echoed as the connection was made.
The calm voice of Justiciar Kael came through, clear and emotionless. "Praetor. I assume dinner didn't go well?"
"He's stubborn. He needs external motivation," I replied, my eyes fixed on the pipe's darkness ahead. "Remember our backup plan? The Verdict Run? Move the schedule up. Now."
"The students aren't ready, Wynter. Tournament logistics aren't—"
"I don't need students, Kael. I don't need schoolchildren playing cops and robbers," I cut in sharply. "I need Vermin."
I stopped walking. Kara and Rian looked at me. Even Solstice slowed her pace, her ears perked up.
"Kael, open The Deep Cells. How much societal trash have you piled up there waiting for execution?"
A brief silence on the other end.
*"About five hundred. Thieves, smugglers, low-class hitmen. Mostly Mana Tier 1 and 2."*
"Release them. All of them."
Rian choked on his own saliva. Kara let out a long, impressed whistle.
"Fit Tracking Collars around their necks," I continued, my voice turning cold, ice-cold, in contrast to the heat in my blood. "Load those Collars with a simple explosive spell. Then kick them out into the Under-City tonight."
"Instructions?" asked Kael.
"Simple: *'You are free. But your heads will explode in 72 hours... unless you manage to steal a 'Ransom Token' hidden randomly in the territory of the Pipeline Syndicate, the Rust-Works, and The Sump.'*"
I uttered that sentence without blinking.
But inside my head, a small, cynical voice laughed.
Look at yourself, Wynter Ash. The Liberator. The Hero.
You just turned five hundred humans into guided missiles. You gave them false hope—"freedom"—when you only gave them a longer leash with a bomb at the end.
How are you different from the Sovereign up there?
They squeeze the people for 'Ambrosia'. You squeeze convicts for 'Chaos'.
They see humans as batteries. You see humans as grenades.
There's only one difference: They pretend to be holy behind golden masks. Me? I admit I'm a bastard.
"You're turning it into a warzone, Praetor," Kael's voice brought me back. "Five hundred desperate people will tear apart anything to live. Civilians will be caught in the middle."
"Not my concern," I replied flatly.
I glanced at Rian, who was staring at me in horror.
"Praetor... civilians..." he whispered.
"This is a calculation, Rian," I said, locking eyes with him so he understood there was no room for moral debate tonight. "Vance is holding the city hostage with false order. I'm solving it with real chaos. Casualties are an unavoidable statistic in a renovation."
I spoke like a monster. And the worst part? It felt... efficient.
"The release begins in one hour," Kael's voice came through, ending the discussion. "Happy hunting, Praetor."
The connection died.
I lowered my hand. The pipe corridor felt quieter, but I knew that in one hour, this place would become a noisy hell. Screams, explosions, and panic would be Vance's lullaby.
"Chaos is a ladder," I muttered into the darkness. "Vance wants to play king? Let's see how he manages his kingdom when five hundred mad rats are gnawing on the cables of his throne."
Kara laughed, slapping Rian's trembling shoulder.
"I told you, Bookworm. Your boss is a rabid dog. He bites without warning."
I looked over at Solstice. She stood there, looking at me with an unreadable expression. No admiration, no disgust. Just... acknowledgment.
"You're burning your own bridges," Solstice said suddenly. "You know that, right? After this, there's no going back to being a 'Good Student'."
"I was never a good student, Solstice," I replied, starting to walk again towards the elevator. "I was only pretending."
"Good," she said curtly, turning and resuming her fast-paced lead. "Pretending is tiring."
We walked towards the surface, leaving behind the seeds of ruin I had just planted in the earth's belly.
Up there, the sun might be rising. But down here... a long night had just begun.
[Date: August 6, 980 GD. Time: 07:00. Location: Nexus Hall -- Grand Praetor's Private Quarters] (Day 1 of the Ultimatum)
The heat was gone.
Like an addict forcibly pulled from the needle, the euphoria didn't fade slowly. It was ripped out roughly, leaving a gaping hole in my chest.
I woke up on the floor of my private bathroom, curled up on marble tiles cold as ice. My body trembled violently, rhythmic, uncontrollable spasms. My teeth chattered so hard I feared my tongue would snap.
My Triad circuits, which last night sang with stolen Solstice energy, now screamed empty. The Aqua in my blood sucked the remnants of the room's temperature, freezing the water vapor in the air into sharp crystals that clung to my eyelashes.
"Sss... ssa... kit..." I hissed, my voice breaking.
The bathroom door opened. Soft footsteps were heard. Not Kara's heavy tread, not Rian's hesitant steps.
Sister Elara.
The Aethelgard spy knelt beside me. She didn't look panicked. She looked... clinical. Her calm, beautiful face watched me like a botanist observing a wilting flower of interest.
"I suspected as much," she murmured softly. "You borrowed the sun, Praetor. Now you must pay the interest."
She didn't call for help. She opened her medical bag, pulling out a glass vial containing a warm, glowing moss-green liquid. Aethelgard Vitality Extract.
"Drink," she ordered, pressing the vial's lip to my blue-tinged mouth.
I gulped it down ravenously. The liquid felt like swallowing warm porridge. It tasted herbal, bitter, but spread quickly to my stomach, providing an illusion of warmth that kept my body's tremors from turning fatal.
"You're leaking badly, Wynter," Elara analyzed while wiping residue from my chin with her thumb. "You're not just a Heat Sink. You're a bottomless pit. The Solstice energy that should have been enough to sustain ten mages for a week, you burned through in twelve hours."
I leaned against the wall, my breathing beginning to stabilize even though thick white steam still poured from my mouth. I stared at Elara. I knew she would report this to her master, Pontifex Silas. She would say the Grand Praetor is a defective person dependent on drugs.
And that was good. Let Silas feel secure. Let him think I'm weak.
"How... long?" I asked hoarsely.
"Until you can stand without falling? Ten minutes," Elara answered. "Until you need another dose? Four hours. You are an addict now, Wynter. You've tasted pure blood, and your body rejects returning to a trash diet."
She gave a thin smile, a manipulative "motherly" smile.
"Don't worry. Aethelgard will take care of you. We like to care for broken things... as long as they are useful."
I closed my eyes. The insult felt sharp, but I swallowed it along with the bitter medicine.
"Get me ready," I ordered coldly, opening eyes that were now flat and numb again. "I have a war to start at seven o'clock."